(I)
Thus spoke the gods from their place above the firmament
Turning from the feasting and the music and the mirth:
"There is time and tide to burn;
Let us stack the plates a turn
And study at our leisure what the trouble is with earth."
Down, down they looked through the azure of the Infinite
Scanning each the meadows where he went with men of yore,
Each his elbows on a cloud,
Making reckoning aloud -
Till the murmur of God wonder was a titan thunder-roar.
"War rocks the world! Look, the arquebus and culverin
Vanish in new sciences that presage T. N. T!
Lo, a dark, discolored swath
Where they drive new tools of wrath!
Do they justify invention? Will they scrap the Laws that Be?
"Look! Mark ye well: where we left a people flourishing
Singing in the sunshine for the fun of being free,
Now they burden man and maid
With a law the priests have laid,
And the bourgeois blow their noses by a communal decree!
"Where, where away are the liberties we left to them -
Gift of being merry and the privilege of fun?
Is delight no longer praise?
Will they famish all their days
For a future built of fury in a present scarce begun?"
"Most Precious friend ... please visit me!"
The one thing in India that never happens is the expected. If the actual
thing itself does occur, then the manner of it sets up so many unforeseen
contingencies that only the subtlest mind, and the sanest and the least
hidebound by opinion, can hope to read the signs fast enough to
understand them as they happen. Naturally, there are always plenty
of people who can read backward after the event; and the few of those
who keep the lesson to themselves, digesting rather than discussing
it, are to be found eventually filling the senior secretaryships, albeit
bitterly criticized by the other men, who unraveled everything afterward
very cleverly and are always unanimous on just one point--that the fellow
who said nothing certainly knew nothing, and is therefore of no account
and should wield no influence, Q. E. D.
And as we belong to the majority, in that we are uncovering the course
of these events very cleverly long after they took place, we must at
this point, to be logical, denounce Theresa Blaine. She was just as
much puzzled as anybody. But she said much less than anybody,
wasted no time at all on guesswork, pondered in her heart persistently
whatever she had actually seen and heard, and in the end was almost
the only non-Indian actor on the stage of Sialpore to reap advantage.
If that does not prove unfitness for one of the leading parts, what does?
A star should scintillate--should focus all eyes on herself and interrupt
the progress of the play to let us know how wise and
beautiful and wonderful she is. But Tess apparently agreed with Hamlet
that "the play's the thing," and was much too interested in the plot to
interfere with it. She attended the usual round of dinners, teas and tennis
parties, that are part of the system by which the English keep alive
their courage, and growing after a while a little tired of trivialty, she tried
to scandalize Sialpore by inviting Tom Tripe to her own garden party,
successfully overruling Tripe's objections.
"Between you and I and the gate-post, lady, they don't hanker for my
society. If somebody--especially colonels, or a judge maybe,--wanted
to borrow a horse from the maharajah's stable,--or perhaps they'd like
a file o' men to escort a picnic in the hills,--then it's 'Oh, hello, good
morning, Mr. Tripe. How's the dog this morning? And oh, by the way--'
Then I know what's coming an' what I can do for 'em I do, for I confess,
lady, that I hanker for a little bit o' flattery and a few words o' praise I'm
not entitled to. I don't covet any man's money--or at least not enough
to damn me into hell on that account. Finding's keeping, and a bet's
a bet, but I don't covet money more than that dog o' mine covets fleas.
He likes to scratch 'em when he has 'em. Me the same; I can use
money with the next man, his or mine. But I wouldn't go to hell for money
any more than Trotters would for fleas, although, mind you, I'm not saying
Trotters hasn't got fleas. He has 'em, same as hell's most folks' destiny.
But when it comes to praise that ain't due me, lady, I'm like Trotters
with another dog's bone--I've simply got to have it, reason or no reason.
A common ordinary bone with meat on it is just a meal. Praise I've
earned is nothing wonderful. But praise I don't deserve is stolen fruit,
and that's the sweetest. Now, if I was to come to your party I'd get no
praise, ma'am. I'd be doing right by you, but they'd say I didn't know
my place, and by and by they'd prove it to me sharp and sneery. I'll
be a coward to stop away, but--'Sensible man,' they'll say. 'Knows when
he isn't wanted.' You see, ma'am, yours is the only house in Sialpore
where I can walk in and know I'm welcome whether you're at home or not."
"All the more reason for coming to the party, Tom."
"Ah-h-h! If only you understood!"
He wagged his head and one finger at her in his half-amused paternal
manner that would often win for him when all else failed. But this time
it did not work.
"I don't care for half-friends, Tom. If you expect to be welcome at my
house you must come to my parties when I ask you."
"Lady, lady!"
"I mean it."
"Oh, very well. I'll come. I've protested. That absolves me. And my
hide's thick. It takes more than just a snub or two--or three to knock
my number down! Am I to bring Trotters?"
"Certainly. Trotters is my friend too. I count on him to do his tricks and
help entertain."
"They'll say of you, ma'am, afterward that you don't know better than
ask Tripe and his vulgar dog to meet nice people."
"They'll be right, Tom. I don't know better. I hope they'll say it to me,
that's all."
But Tess discovered when the day came that no American can scandalize
the English. They simply don't expect an American to know bow to
behave, and Tom Tripe and his marvelous performing dog were accepted
and approved of as sincerely as the real American ice-cream soda--
and forgotten as swiftly the morning following.
The commissioner was actually glad to meet Tripe in the circumstances.
If the man should suppose that because Sir Roland Samson and a judge
of appeal engaged in a three-cornered conversation with him at a garden
party, therefore either of them would speak to the maharajah's drill-master
when next they should meet in public, he might guess again, that was all.
One of the things the commissioner asked Tripe was whether he was
responsible for the mounting of palace guards--of course not improperly
inquisitive about the maharajah's personal affairs but anxious to seem
interested in the fellow's daily round, since just then one couldn't avoid him.
"In a manner, and after a fashion, yes, sir. I'm responsible that routine
goes on regularly and that the men on duty know their business."
"Ah. Nothing like responsibility. Good for a man. Some try to avoid it,
but it's good. So you look after the guard on all the palaces? The
Princess Yasmini's too, eh? Well, well; I can imagine that might be
nervous work. They say that young lady is--! Eh, Tripe?"
"I couldn't say, sir. My duties don't take me inside the palace."
"Now, now, Tripe! No use trying to look innocent! They tell me she's
a handful and you encourage her!"
"Some folks don't care what they say, sir."
"If she should be in trouble I dare say, now, you'd be the man she'd
apply to for help."
"I'd like to think that, sir."
"Might ask you to take a letter for instance, to me or his honor the judge here?"
The judge walked away. He did not care to be mixed up in intrigue,
even hypothetically, and especially with a member of the lower orders.
"I'd do for her what I'd do for a daughter of my own, sir, neither more
nor less."
"Quite so, Tripe. If she gave you a letter to bring to me, you'd bring it, eh?"
"Excepting barratry, the ten commandments, earthquake and the act
of God, sir, yes."
"Without the maharajah knowing?"
"Without his highness knowing."
"You'd do that with a clear conscience, eh?"
Tom Tripe screwed his face up, puffed his cheeks, and struck a very
military attitude.
"A soldier's got no business with a conscience, sir. Conscience makes
a man squeamish o' doing right for fear his wife's second cousin might
tell the neighbors."
"Ha-ha! Very profoundly philosophic! I dare wager you've carried her
letters at least a dozen times--now come."
Again Tom Tripe puffed out his cheeks and struck an attitude.
"Men don't get hanged for murder, sir."
"For what, then?"
"Talking before and afterward!"
"Excellent! If only every one remembered that! Did it ever occur to
you how the problem might be reversed ?"
"Sir?"
"There might one day be a letter for the Princess Yasmini that, as her
friend, you ought to make sure should reach her."
"I'd take a letter from you to her, sir, if that's your meaning."
Sir Roland Samson, K. C. S. I., looked properly shocked.
There are few things so appalling as the abruptness with which members
of the lower orders divest diplomacy's kernel of its decorative outer shell.
"What I meant is--ah--" He set his monocle, and stared as if Tripe were
an insect on a pin-point. "Since you admit you're in the business of
intriguing for the princess, no doubt you carry letters to, as well as from
her, and hold your tongue about that too?"
"If I should deliver letters they'd be secret or they'd have gone through
the mail. I'd risk my job each time I did it. Would I risk it worse by talking?
Once the maharajah heard a whisper--"
"Well--I'll be careful not to drop a hint to his highness. As you say, it
might imperil your job. And, ah--" (again the monocle,) "--the initials r. s.--
in small letters, not capitals, in the bottom left-hand corner of a small
white envelope would--ah--you understand?--you'd see that she received it, eh?"
Tom Tripe bridled visibly. Neither the implied threat nor the proposal
to make use of him without acknowledging the service afterward, escaped
him. Samson, who believed among other things in keeping all inferiors
thoroughly in their place decided on the instant to rub home the lesson
while it smarted.
"You'd find it profitable. You'd be paid whatever the situation called for.
You needn't doubt that."
Tess, talking with a group of guests some little distance off, observed
a look of battle in Tom Tripe's eye, and smiled two seconds later as
the commissioner let fall his monocle. Two things she was certain of
at once: Tom Tripe would tell her at the first opportunity exactly what
had happened, and Samson would lie about it glibly if provoked. She
promised herself she would provoke him. As a matter of fact Tom
gave her two or three versions afterward of what his words had been,
their grandeur increasing as imagination flourished in the comfortable
warmth of confidence. But the first account came from a fresh memory:
"No money you'll ever touch would buy my dog's silence, let alone
mine, sir! If you've a letter for the princess, send it along and I'll see
she gets it. If she cares to answer it, I'll see the answer reaches you.
As for dropping hints to the maharajah about my doing little services
for the princess,--a gentleman's a gentleman, and don't need instruction--
nor advice from me. If I was out of a job tomorrow I'd still be a man
on two feet, to be met as such."
A man of indiscretion, and a diplomat, must have fireproof feelings.
As Tess had observed, Samson blenched distinctly, but he recovered
in a second and put in practise some of that opportunism that was his
secret pride, reflecting how a less finished diplomatist would have betrayed
resentment at the snub from an inferior instead of affecting not to notice
it at all. As a student of human nature he decided that Tom Tripe's pride
was the point to take advantage of.
"You're the very man I can trust," he said. "I'm glad we have had this talk.
If ever you receive a small white envelope marked r. s. in the left-hand
bottom corner, see that the princess gets it, and say nothing."
"Trust me, eh?" Tripe muttered as Samson walked away. "You never
trusted your own mother without you had a secret hold over her. I wouldn't
trust you that far!" He spat among the flowers, for Tom could not pretend
to real garden-party manners. "And if she trusts you, letters or no letters,
I'll eat my spurs and saber cold for breakfast."
Then, as if to console himself with proof that some one in the world did
trust him thoroughly, Tom swaggered with a riding-master stride to where
Tess stood talking with a Rajput prince, who had come late and threatened
to leave early. The prince had puzzled her by referring two or three times
to his hurry, once even going so far as to say good-by, and then not
going. It was as if he expected her to know something that she did
not know, and to give him a cue that he waited for in vain. She felt he
must think her stupid, and the thought made her every minute less at
ease; but Tom's approach, eyed narrowly by Samson for some reason,
seemed to raise the Rajput's spirits.
"If only my husband were here," she said aloud, "but at the last minute--
there was blasting, you know, and--"
The prince--he was quite a young one--twenty-one perhaps--murmured
something polite and with eyes that smoldered watched Tom take a
letter from his tunic pocket. He handed it to Tess with quite a flourish.
"Some one must have dropped this, ma'am."
The envelope was scented, and addressed in Persian characters. She
saw the prince's eyes devour the thing--saw him exchange glances with
Tom Tripe--and realized that Tom had rather deftly introduced her to
another actor in the unseen drama that was going on. Clearly the next
move was hers.
"Is it yours, perhaps?" she asked.
Prince Utirupa Singh bowed and took the letter. Samson with a look
of baffled fury behind the monocle, but a smile for appearance's sake,
joined them at that minute and Utirupa seemed to take delight in so
manipulating the sealed envelope that the commissioner could only
see the back of it.
The prince was an extremely handsome young man, as striking in one
way as Samson in another. Polo and pig-sticking had kept him lean,
and association with British officers had given him an air of being frankly
at his ease even when really very far from feeling it. He had the natural
Oriental gift of smothering excitement, added to a trick learned from
the West of aggressive self-restraint that is not satisfied with seeming
the opposite of what one is, but insists on extracting humor from the
situation and on calling attention to the humor.
"I shall always be grateful to you," he said, smiling into Tess's eyes with
his own wonderful brown ones but talking at the commissioner. "If I
had lost this letter I should have been at a loss indeed. If some one
else had found it, that might have been disastrous."
"But I did not find it for you," Tess objected.
Utirupa turned his back to the commissioner and answered in a low voice.
"Nevertheless, when I lose letters I shall come here first!"
He bowed to take his leave and showed the back of the envelope again
to Samson, with a quiet malice worthy of Torquemada. The commissioner
looked almost capable of snatching it.
"Mrs. Blaine," he said with a laugh after the prince had gone, "skill and
experience, I am afraid, are not much good without luck. Luck seems
to be a thing I lack. Now, if I had picked up that letter I've a notion that
the information in it would have saved me a year's work."
Tess was quite sure that Tom had not picked the letter up, but there
was no need to betray her knowledge.
"Do you mean you'd have opened a letter you picked up in my garden?"
she demanded.
His eyes accepted her challenge.
"Why not?"
"But why? Surely--"
"Necessity, dear lady, knows no law. That's one of the first axioms of
diplomacy. Consider your husband as a case in point. Custom, which
is the basis of nearly all law, says he ought to be here entertaining your
guests. Necessity, ignoring custom, obliges him to stay in the hills and
supervise the blasting, disappointing every one but me. I'm going to
take advantage of his necessity."
If he had seen the swift glance she gave him he might have changed
the course of one small part of history. Tess knew nothing of the intrigue
he was engaged in, and did not propose to be keeper of his secrets;
if he had glimpsed that swift betrayal of her feelings he would certainly
not have volunteered further confidences. But the poison of ambition
blinds all those who drink it, so that the "safest" men unburden themselves
to the wrong unwilling ears.
"Walk with me up and down the path where every one can see us, won't you?"
"Why?" she laughed. "Do you flatter yourself I'd be afraid to be caught
alone with you?"
"I hope you'd like to be alone with me! I would like nothing better. But
if we walk up and down together on the path in full view, we arouse no
suspicion and we can't be overheard. I propose to tell some secrets."
Not many women would resist the temptation of inside political information.
Recognizing that by some means beyond her comprehension she
was being drawn into a maze of secrets all interrelated and any of them
likely to involve herself at any minute, Tess had no compunction whatever.
"I'll be frank with you," she said. "I'm curious."
Once they walked up the path and down again, talking of dogs, because
it happened that Tom Tripe's enormous beast was sprawling in the
shadow of a rose-bush at the farther end. The commissioner did not
like dogs. "Something loathsome about them--degrading--especially
the big ones." She disagreed. She liked them, cold wet noses and all,
even in the dark. Tom Tripe, stepping behind a bush with the obvious
purpose of smoking in secret the clay pipe that be hardly troubled to
conceal, whistled the dog, who leapt into life as if stung and joined his master.
The second time up and down they talked of professional beggars and
what a problem they are to India, because they both happened as they
turned to catch sight of Umra with the one eye, entering through the
little gate in the wall and shuffling without modesty or a moment's
hesitation to his favorite seat among the shrubs, whence to view
proceedings undisturbed.
"Those three beggars that haunt this house seem to claim all our
privileges," she said. "They wouldn't think of letting us give a garden
party without them."
"Say the word," he said, "and I'll have them put in prison."
But she did not say the word.
The third time up the path he chose to waste on very obvious flattery.
"You're such an unusual woman, you know, Mrs. Blaine. You understand
whatever's said to you, and don't ask idiotic questions. And then, of
course, you're American, and I feel I can say things to you that my
own countrywoman wouldn't understand. As an American, in other
words, you're privileged."
As they turned at the top of the path she felt a cold wet something thrust
into her hand from behind. She had never in her life refused a caress
to a dog that asked for one, and her fingers closed almost unconsciously
on Trotters' muzzle, touching as they did so the square unmistakable
hard edges of an envelope. There was no mistaking the intent; the
dog forced it on her and, the instant her fingers closed on it, slunk out of sight.
"Wasn't that Tripe's infernal dog again?"
"Was it? I didn't see." She was wiping slobber on to her skirt from an
envelope whose strong perfume had excited the dog's salivary glands.
But it was true that she did not see.
"May I call you Theresa?"
"Why?"
"It would encourage confidences. There isn't another woman in Sialpore
whom I could tell what I'm going to say to you. The others would repeat
it to their husbands, or--"
"I tell mine everything. Every word!"
"Or they'd try to work me on the strength of it for little favors--"
"Wait until you know me! Little favors don't appeal to me. I like them
big--very big!"
"Honestly, Theresa--"
"Better call me Mrs. Blaine."
"Honestly, there's nothing under heaven that--"
"That you really know about me. I know there isn't. You were going
to tell secrets. I'm listening."
"You're a hard-hearted woman!"
She had contrived by that time to extract a letter from the envelope
behind her back, but how to read it without informing Samson was
another matter. As she turned up the path for the sixth time, the sight
of Tom Tripe making semi-surreptitious signals to attract her attention
convinced her that the message was urgent and that she should not
wait to read it until after her last guests were gone. It was only one
sheet of paper, written probably on only one side--she hoped in English.
But how -
Suddenly she screamed, and Samson was all instant concern.
"Was that a snake? Tell me, was that a snake I saw. Oh, do look, please!
I loathe them."
"Probably a lizard."
"No, no, I know a lizard. Do please look!"
Unbelieving, he took a stick and poked about among the, flowers to
oblige her; so she read the message at her leisure behind the broad
of his back, and had folded it out of sight before he looked up.
"No snakes. Nothing but a lizard."
"Oh, I'm so glad! Please forgive me, but I dread snakes. Now tell
me the secrets while I listen properly."
He noticed a change in her voice--symptoms of new interest, and
passed it to the credit of himself.
"There's an intrigue going on, and you can help me. Sp--people whose
business it is to keep me informed have reported that Tom Tripe is
constantly carrying letters from the Princess Yasmini of Sialpore to that
young Prince Utirupa who was here this afternoon. Now, it's no secret
that if Gungadhura Singh were to get found out committing treason
(and I'm pretty sure he's guilty of it five days out of six!) we'd depose him--"
"You mean the British would depose him?"
"Depose him root and branch. Then Utirtipa would be next in line.
He's a decent fellow. He'd be sure of the nomination, and he'd make
a good ruler."
"Well?"
"I want to know what the Princess Yasmini has to do with it."
"It seems to me you're not telling secrets, but asking favors for nothing."
"Not for nothing--not for nothing! There's positively nothing that I won't do!"
"In return for--?"
"Sure information as to what is going on."
"Which you think I can get for you?"
"I'm positive! You're such an extraordinary, woman. I'm pretty sure it
all hinges on the treasure I told you about the other day. Whoever gets
first hold of that holds all the trumps. I'd like to get it myself. That would
be the making of me, politically speaking. If Gungadhura should get
it he'd ruin himself with intrigue in less than a year, but he might cause
my ruin in the process. If the local priests should get it--and that's likeliest,
all things considered--there'd be red ruin for miles around; money and
the church don't mix without blood-letting, and you can't unscramble
that omelet forever afterward. I confess I don't know how to checkmate
the priests. Gungadhura I think I can manage, especially with your aid.
But I must have information."
"Is there any one else who'd be dangerous if he possessed the secret?"
"Anybody would be, except myself. Anybody else would begin playing
for political control with it, and there'd be no more peace on this side
of India for years. And now, this is what I want to say: The most dangerous
individual who could possibly get that treasure would be the Princess
Yasmini. The difficulty of dealing with her is that she's not above hiding
behind purdah (the veil), where no male man can reach her. There
are several women here whom I might interest in keeping an eye on her--
Tatum's wife, and Miss Bent, and Miss O'Hara, and the Goole sisters--
lots of 'em. But they'd all talk. And they'd all try to get influence for
their male connections on the strength of being in the know. But somehow,
Theresa, you're different."
"Mrs. Blaine, please."
"I know Tom Tripe thinks the world of you. I want you to find out for
me from him everything he knows about this treasure intrigue and
whatever's behind it."
"You think he'd tell me?"
"Yes. And I want you to make the acquaintance of the Princess Yasmini,
and find out from her if you can what the letters are that she writes to
Utirupa. You'll find the acquaintance interesting."
Tess crumpled a folded letter in her left hand.
"If you could give me an introduction to the princess--they say she's
difficult to see--some sort of letter that would get me past the maharajah's
guards," she answered.
"I can. I will. The girl's a minor. I've the right to appoint some one to
visit her and make all proper inquiries. I appoint you."
"Give me a letter now and I'll go tonight."
He stopped as they turned at the end of the path, and wrote on a leaf
of his pocket-book. Behind his back Tess waved her secret letter to
attract Tom Tripe's notice, and nodded.
"There." said Samson. "That's preliminary. I'll confirm it later by letter
on official paper. But nobody will dare question that. If any one does,
let me know immediately."
"Thank you."
"And now, Theresa--"
"You forget."
"I forget nothing. I never forget! You'll be wondering what you are to
get out of all this--"
"I wonder if you're capable of believing that nothing was further from
my thoughts!"
"Don't think I want all for nothing! Don't imagine my happiness--my
success could be complete without--"
"Without a whisky and soda. Come and have one. I see my husband
coming at last."
"Damn!" muttered Samson under his breath.
She had expected her husband by the big gate, but he came through
the little one, and she caught sight of him at once because through the
corner of her eye she was watching some one else--Umra the beggar.
Umra departed through the little gate thirty seconds before her husband
entered it.
Blaine was so jubilant over a sample of crushed quartz he had brought
home with him that there was no concealing his high spirits. He was
even cordial to Samson, whom he detested, and so full of the milk of
human kindness toward everybody else that they all wanted to stay and
be amused by him. But Tess got rid of them at last by begging Samson
to go first ostentatiously and set them an example, which he did after
extracting a promise from her to see him tete-a-tete again at the
earliest opportunity.
Then Tess showed her husband the letter that Tom's dog had thrust
into her hand.
"You dine alone tonight, Dick, unless you prefer the club. I'm going at
once. Read this."
It was written in a fine Italic hand on expensive paper, with corrections
here and there as if the writer had obeyed inspiration first and consulted
a dictionary afterward--a neat letter, even neat in its mistakes.
"Most precious friend," it ran, "please visit me. It is necessary that
you find some way of avoi--elu--tricking the guards, because there
are orders not to admit any one and not to let me out. Please bring
with you food from your house, because I am hungry. A cat and
two birds and a monkey have died from the food cooked for me.
I am also thirsty. My mother taught me to drink wine, but the wine is
finished, and I like water the best. Tom Tripe will try to help you past
the guards, but he has no brains, so you must give him orders.
He is very faithful. Please come soon, and bring a very large
quantity of water. Yours with love, YASMINI."
He read the letter and passed it back.
"D'you think it's on the level, Tess?"
"I know it is! Imagine that poor child, Dick, cooped up in a palace,
starving and parching herself for fear of poison!"
"But how are you going to get to her? You can't bowl over Gungadhura's
guards with a sunshade."
"Samson wrote this for me."
Dick Blaine scowled.
"I imagine Samson's favors are paid for sooner or later."
"So are mine, Dick! The beast has called me Theresa three times this
afternoon, and has had the impudence to suggest that his preferment
and my future happiness may bear some relation to each other."
"See here, Tess, maybe I'd better beat him and have done with it."
"No. He can't corrupt me, but he might easily do you an injury. Let him
alone, Dick, and be as civil as you can. You did splendidly this evening--"
"Before I knew what he'd said to you!"
"Now you've all the more reason to be civil. I must keep in touch with
that young girl in the palace, and Samson is the only influence I can
count on. Do as I say, Dick, and be civil to him. Pretend you're not
even suspicious."
"But say, that guy's suggestions aggregate an ounce or two! First, I'm
to draw Gungadhura's money while I hunt for buried treasure; but I'm
to tip off Samson first. Second, I'm to look on while he makes his
political fortune with my wife's help. And third--what's the third thing, Tess?"
She kissed him. "The third is that you're going to seem to be fooled
by him, for the present at all events. Let's know what's at the bottom
of all this, and help the princess and Tom Tripe if it's possible. Are
you tired?"
"Yes. Why?"
"If you weren't tired I was going to ask you to put a turban on as soon
as it's dark, and dress up like a sais and drive me to Yasmini's palace,
with a revolver in each pocket in case of accidents, and eyes and ears
skinned until I come out again."
"Oh, I'm not too tired for that."
"Come along then. I'll put up a hamper with my own hands. You get
wine from the cellar, and make sure the corks have not been pulled
and replaced. Then get the dog-cart to the door. I'll keep it waiting
there while you run up-stairs and change. Hurry, Dick, hurry--it's growing dark!
I'll put some sandwiches under the seat for you to eat while you're waiting
in the dark for me."