I had hardly laid it down when I heard a quick step in the road
behind me, and looking back, there was Mifflin, striding along with
his bald pate covered with little beads of moisture. Bock trotted
sedately at his heels. I halted Peg.
"Well," I said, "what's happened to Andrew?"
The Professor still looked a bit shamefaced. "The Sage is a
tenacious person," he said. "We argued for a bit without much
satisfaction. As a matter of fact we nearly came to blows again,
only he got another waft of goldenrod, which started him sneezing,
and then his nose began bleeding once more. He is convinced that
I'm a ruffian, and said so in excellent prose. Honestly, I admire
him a great deal. I believe he intends to have the law on me. I
gave him my Brooklyn address in case he wants to follow the matter
up. I think I rather pleased him by asking him to autograph
'Happiness and Hayseed' for me. I found it lying in the ditch."
"Well," I said, "you two are certainly a great pair of lunatics. You
both ought to go on the stage. You'd be as good as Weber and Fields.
Did he give you the autograph?"
He pulled the book out of his pocket. Scrawled in it in pencil were
the words "I have shed blood for Mr. Mifflin. Andrew McGill."
"I shall read the book again with renewed interest," said Mifflin.
"May I get in?"
"By all means," I said. "There's Port Vigor in front of us."
He put on his cap, noticed that it seemed to feel different, pulled
it off again, and then looked at me in a quaint embarrassment.
"You are very good, Miss McGill," he said.
"Where did Andrew go?" I asked.
"He set off for Shelby on foot," Mifflin answered. "He has a grand
stride for walking. He suddenly remembered that he had left some
potatoes boiling on the fire yesterday afternoon, and said he must
get back to attend to them. He said he hoped you would send him a
postal card now and then. Do you know, he reminds me of Thoreau more
than ever."
"He reminds me of a burnt cooking pot," I said. "I suppose all my
kitchenware will be in a horrible state when I get home."