Frank came in presently and joined the group, for until the hour for
retiring they were monopolising the little blue reception room as a
private parlour. He had encouraging news of Lloyd. "He's all right,"
Frank cheerily averred. "His head has got a lump on it as big as a
hen's egg, and it aches to beat the band. The doctor says, though, it
is not serious. The stone glanced aside, didn't hit him squarely. If
it had he would have been a deader by now. Ought to have seen 'Captain
Ollory of the Royal Navy' fairly blubber--he is a good-hearted old kid."
"But what was the motive of the attack?" Mrs. Laniston asked, enjoying
every item of the sensation, without the jeopardy and the shock.
"Nobody can imagine," said Frank.
"Some intoxicated wretch," said Jardine disgustedly--he felt as if he
would like to be disinfected, fumigated, because of the moral effluvia
of such low company--he had never been in such a crowd before in his
life.
"A drunken man can't sling a stone with a steady hand like that," said
Frank. "I _did_ hear," he added with a sudden after-thought,--"that old
Shadrach Pinnott's son, Tom--who my informant said was as drunk as a
'fraish b'iled ow_el_,'--ain't that a lovely expression for a lovely
state?--declared that the man who threw the stone was a lover of Tom's
sister, Clotildy Pinnott--sweet name!--and was jealous of the manager
fellow who had taught her to sing and dance in that dinky, dainty way.
The manager is dead in love with her, too--so the discarded lover chews
the rag, and holds the bag, and hurls the bolt."
Lucia, who had ceased her tears as she listened, pressing her
handkerchief once and again to her eyes, as she was thrown, half
reclining on one of the sofas, now began anew to sob nervously, and
Jardine looked anxiously at Mrs. Laniston, as if commending the
demonstration to her attention and ministrations. But Mrs. Laniston was
eager for the news--she had had a dull evening at the hotel.
"Nefarious business," she commented.
"Of course," declared Frank. "Intent to commit murder. The man tried to
kill Lloyd. If the manager hadn't been a ground-and-lofty-tumbler once
in his career--he seems to have been some of everything--all 'round
athlete--he couldn't have broken his fall by throwing somersaults--he
would have been killed by the fall from such a height."
"But consider the frightful danger that Lucia was in, mamma," cried
Ruth. "A little swerving to one side and the stone would have struck
_her_ head instead of his."
Frank's boyish red face grew grave and dismayed.
"Was the man in the settee beside Lucia?" he asked aghast, hearing this
detail for the first time.
"But, for God's sake, don't mention it," said Mr. Jardine testily,
rising from his chair and taking a nervous turn through the room. "If
this miscreant should be captured and a trial ensue, it would be a
most disagreeable, almost derogatory thing for her to have to give
her testimony in open court under these circumstances. Don't--_don't_
mention it."
"Certainly not," said Frank formally. "I shall bear your injunction in
mind."
No one can so bitterly object to schooling as he who stands in need
of it. In reality this phase of the possibilities had not occurred to
the youth, and he fully appreciated the value of the warning. But he
deprecated the tone, the possessory manner in which Mr. Jardine was
playing the role of tutelary deity to the family. The interest of the
subject, however, overpowered his rancour, and after a momentary pause
he went on with an indignant sense of offended dignity. "But how in the
name of all that is stylish did the manager of the Street Fair happen
to be escorting Lucia?"
"Because," said Ruth, with a deep satirical bow and a manner of
punctilious ceremony, "_you_ were so polite as to decline to escort
her."
"My child!" remonstrated Mrs. Laniston, aghast. Then turning to the
delinquent, "Why, Francis--how is this?"
"Frank gave us the slip--he promised to meet us," Ruth with true
sisterly candour was bent on fixing his remissness upon him.
"I would have given up the project," Mr. Jardine felt it incumbent on
him to say. "But we had waited a good while and the crowd was very
impatient; and when the manager proposed to take the place it was on
the score of balancing the swing, and really it seemed a little too
pointed and conscious to decline--the wheel being a public conveyance,
so to speak."
"And besides, he didn't give you time--he didn't anticipate a refusal,"
said Ruth. "He selected Lucia in preference to me, thank goodness!
I wonder that, when he was attacked, Lucia did not fall out of the
swing--it shook like a leaf in the wind."
"Francis should have been with you--I thought that was what you went
out for--to escort your relatives," Mrs. Laniston fixed rebuking eyes
on him.
"Oh, I did--I did," Frank's repentance was always most complete and
disarming. He had no nettling reservation of justification. His square,
rosy face was crestfallen and concerned. "I simply forgot! I stopped
for some cigarettes at the cigar stand in the bar-room--or rather where
the bar ought to be--and there were a lot of country fellows there,
spinning yarns of bear-hunting and trapping wolves in the mountains--I
stopped to listen--quaint characteristic stories--and I had no idea of
how the time was passing. I am awfully sorry, Lucia. But my apologies
do no good now."
"You needn't apologise," said Lucia good-naturedly, though she could
not cease to sob as she spoke. "I was not in the least hurt--only
considerably scared--and if you had joined us in time I should have
missed the most sensational incident of my experience."
"It is not a little mortifying to me that I should have been the cause
of it--and of your appearing in public on so conspicuous an occasion
escorted so inappropriately, to say the least of it."
Frank was of the opinion that Jardine was in fault--he should have
called the excursion off rather than consign Lucia to such escort. He
should have brought the young ladies back to the hotel, if anything
more were involved than their foolish, childish desire to swing in the
big wheel. As Frank sat solemnly gazing at the toes of his white shoes,
one hand on each knee, he was resolving that he would submit this view
of the case to his mother as soon as he could have an audience with
her free of Jardine's presence. It did not in the slightest degree,
he felt, mitigate his own remissness in failing to appear, but surely
Jardine need not have carried out the plan at all and any hazards. And
having satisfied his conscience to this extent he began to seek to
minimise the most nettling and derogatory phases of the incident, as it
personally concerned his relatives.
"I don't believe the point that he was acting as escort to Lucia will
be brought out at all," he said. "I noticed in the drug store that
when 'Captain Ollory' asked Lloyd how in h-h-heaven he happened to
be in the Ferris Wheel he merely answered that he went to balance one
of the swings which apparently was not sufficiently weighted to be
satisfactory. And the matter seemed to pass."
Lucia drew herself into a sitting posture. The nervous shock she had
undergone showed in her pallor and the dark circles under her eyes.
Her dainty lace blouse, with its elbow sleeves revealing her fair,
beautifully proportioned arms, the knots of faint-hued ribbon, her
delicately arranged hair, all seemed incongruous with the piteous
aspect of her tearful eyes and the pathetic downward droop of her lips.
"I think that was very considerate of him, especially in view of
the state of his wound--don't you, Aunt Dora? He might easily have
overlooked that point."
"Or he might not have appreciated it," Mrs. Laniston assented.
"Yes, he would appreciate it," said Frank, wagging his wise head. "I
tell you now, that fellow is as delicate-minded as any girl. He has got
very popular here too--the town folks were fairly gushing over him in
the drug store. If that rascal were caught they'd make him squeak, you
bet your life. He would see sights."
Mr. Jardine was not an imaginative man, but before his mental vision
was a dull night scene of dusky purple atmosphere, veined about with
white lights, and hirpling away in the shadow was the figure of a
grey-coated old man, suddenly turning over his shoulder a malignant
young face with a grin of glistening white teeth.
Jardine gave an abrupt start, for it was as if this recollection had
become visible to others, when Frank, still sitting in his pondering
attitude, a hand on either knee, and his florid face bent down, said
without preamble--"I wonder if any of you noticed this afternoon at the
'high-class concert' a fellow with an old whitey-grey coat who looked
in the back like an old man and had a young face, if you could catch a
glimpse of it under the flapping brim of an old white hat."
"Yes, indeed," cried Ruth excitedly. "When I said the scene was merely
a by-play and the real romance was when the manager had fallen in love
with the girl he had trained so beautifully, this man, who was sitting
in front of us, turned and looked straight into my eyes as if he would
deny it--as if he could destroy me for the suggestion."
"I noticed that too," said Lucia. "That is what made me remember him
when I saw him again to-night--in the same old whitey-grey coat and
flapping white hat. He was in the wheel with us--in a swing alone--just
behind you and Mr. Jardine."
"Ladies--ladies--let me beg of you--I must insist that you do not
pursue this line of thought!" Jardine admonished them. "You do not
want to convince yourselves, that your consciousness may convince
others----" he paused dumbfounded. He was himself advancing the
matter. He was formulating their conclusion, inchoate as yet--he was
putting it into systematic words.
"Oh, Mr. Jardine," cried Ruth with the cadence of discovery, and rising
to her feet, "_you_ think that this man was the criminal--that it was a
case of jealousy."
"No--no--that is precisely the impression I do not wish to give,"
Jardine protested. "I am sure I do not know, and I have no right to
accuse or suspect anyone."
"Well, _I_ know," declared Ruth recklessly; "the whole matter is as
plain as a pike-staff. I saw a perfect inferno of wrath in his eyes
when I said that the manager was in love with that beautiful mountain
girl. And when we were photographing her I noticed that she looked at
Mr. Lloyd with adoring eyes. He has taken her away from her mountain
lover, and these primitive people have primitive reprisals. Mr. Lloyd
has paid the penalty for his easy fascinations."
"Ruth, you must not run on so," Mrs. Laniston admonished her, after
having listened with interest to the end of the cogent speculations.
"For heaven's sake, how ill Lucia is looking," she broke off suddenly.
"You are tired, Lucia; you need rest, my dear, after all these
excitements. Come--we must say good-night." She rose rather wearily
herself, and stood for a moment while the others reluctantly came to a
standing posture and gathered themselves together in a group.
"It is really quite necessary that we should not put mere suspicions
into words--very unpleasant consequences might ensue," Jardine
ventured. He noted in the mirror over the mantelpiece how anxious,
and patient, and sharpened was his face. He had already felt that his
dignity had never been so seriously compromised as in the events of the
day, but this possibility was of far more importance.
"You are very right, Mr. Jardine," Mrs. Laniston assented. Then turning
to Ruth with an admonitory air, "Really, I think that we have had quite
enough of undesirable publicity and sensation. You might presently find
yourself swearing to your fancies in court. You must heed Mr. Jardine's
very sensible warnings, for which _I_ at least am much obliged. [Ruth
wheeled about and made him a pretty little mirthful bow of smiling
acknowledgments.] You might actually swear a man's liberty away with
your foolish impressions. This is a serious matter and you must rein
your tongue."
"I am mute; I am mute," Ruth declared gaily, "and here is Lucia with
not even a word to throw to--to Wick-Zoo."
"I can say good-night at least--and thank you very much, Mr. Jardine,"
Lucia remarked languidly. She was as pale, she seemed as fragile as the
lace she wore. He accompanied them along the verandah to the foot of
the staircase, and as their white draperies rustled up the flight into
the shadowy dimness of the upper story he turned away with a practical
anxious solicitude, characteristic of a husband or father rather than a
lover, wondering if Mrs. Laniston realised the seriousness of a nervous
shock, and if it would have been too intrusive to suggest calling in a
physician to prescribe. This trend of thought led to the alternative of
a stimulant rather than a drug. A glass of wine could do no harm, and
he hurried to the office with the intention of sending up a bottle of
the best that the town afforded with a plate of wafers or crackers of
some delicate sort.
The duck-like clerk dashed his hopes with a single quack. "Dry town,
Mr. Jardine," he reminded the guest jocosely.
Jardine remembered his brandy flask. He had left it, well filled, at
New Helvetia.
"This is really a case of necessity," he said, and then checked himself
abruptly. The circumstances of the nervous shock it would not be well
to unnecessarily detail.
"Mrs. Laniston ill?" asked the clerk, drawing his visage into such an
expression of respectful sympathy as might do homage to one of the
valued patrons of the house. "Sorry, indeed. Would be glad to provide
the stimulants. Interests of house prevent. Law strictly enforced.
Sorry, indeed."
Then a sudden new thought seemed to strike him. "No law against
tipping you a wink." He began to laugh very much. "I wouldn't tell
such a thing to the young man, Frank--of course. Promising boy.
Confide in your discretion. Distinguished stranger in town. Retiring
disposition. Dispenses for a consideration. Holds forth in seclusion.
Best of reasons. Follow the first tipsy hill-billy you see. Meet up
with something. Surprise you. Purest liquor in the world. Absolutely
unadulterated." The duck smacked his bill together and quacked forth a
laugh of the most wicked relish.
As a matter of curiosity Jardine had been given the opportunity more
than once at New Helvetia to sample certain spirits said to issue from
no bonded still. There hung about this beverage a wholesome home-made
flavour, or perhaps its extraordinary strength and its colourless
limpidity imparted a persuasion of its purity. He was easily convinced
of the value of the commodity, but he only doubtfully thanked the clerk
and walked forth on the verandah, his ardour very definitely quenched.
He had made for Lucia Laniston this day sacrifices of inclination and
conviction altogether disproportioned to the trivial matters that had
constrained them. He would not have believed himself capable of so much
self-abnegation as they had involved. He could have done greater things
that were in accord with his tastes, his habits, his sense of the
appropriate, with far less strain upon his generosity. It seemed to him
now that he had indeed reached the limit. To be recommended to sally
forth to seek a moonshiner's lair!--he was amazed and affronted that
the clerk should have ventured such a suggestion. Then he reflected
that he had said that it was a case of necessity, and not even the drug
stores were privileged to keep the ardent stuff for medical purposes.
It was indeed a case of necessity, he said to himself, remembering
the transparent pallor of Lucia's face, the nerveless flaccidity of
her cold little hand as he had held it in his grasp for one moment
in the good-night leave-takings. He loved her in a plain, home-like,
hearty fashion. He would have been constant himself, and unreceptive to
little variations of sentiment in her; he would not have entertained
captious and suspicious theories as to minutiæ of tone and word and
manner; he would not have sought unhappiness in analysing his own
affection and the degree of responsive warmth it awakened had she once
accepted his devotion and promised her love in return. He would have
believed placidly in her and continued altogether confident in himself.
He was solicitous for her well-being, her health, her happiness in
a reasonable sense. Had he been sure of her heart, her approval of
himself, he would not have hesitated to deny her all the fantastic
follies that had no real value as amusement and that had served to
make the day a nettling penance to him, as it should have been to any
other sane being. But any valid pleasure, any opportunity of worldly
advantage, any cultivated and appropriate enjoyment--he would have
strained every nerve to afford her these. The idea that she was
neglected, that her aunt did not realise the shock she had endured,
that she was suffering for aught that he could procure and he alone--he
clapped his correct hat on his priggish head and started out into the
night.
It was dank and cool; the winds were still astir in the upper
atmosphere, for the clouds raced continually athwart the densely
enstarred sky. The town, stretching away in straggling streets along
the hillside, was dark save for the lamps at regular intervals; here
and there an upper window shone above shrubbery and vines, the chamber
of some late patron of the Street Fair or perchance a sick-room. The
square was almost deserted; the business houses were dark, presenting
the blank front of their shutters to the passer-by; only the drug store
was yet alight and groups of loiterers congregated here, more than
one exhibiting the unsteady footsteps in which the hotel clerk had
recommended his patron to walk for the nonce.
These wavering steps set a languid pace along the quiet country road
for a considerable distance. Trees grew close on either hand but there
were few dwellings; they were dark and silent, with one exception where
a frantically barking dog dragged a block and chain around a dooryard,
unaccustomed to be thus accoutred by night, and possibly restrained
to avoid harassing the unusual number of harmless wayfarers along the
highroad. The stars gave sufficient light to show the direction of
the thoroughfare and the eccentric gait of the guide whom Jardine
had elected to follow. There was a footbridge visible spanning the
river; many a broken stellular reflection flashed from the dark,
lustrous surface, and the foam of the rapids was assertively white
in the claro-obscuro. Jardine had a sense of anxiety lest the feet
of the "hill-billy" in advance were too unsteady to carry him safely
across the narrow structure. But he presently descried him meandering
cheerfully along on the sit, he had paused and clung fearfully to
the hand-further side, although at one point, when in tran-rail, and
cried aloud in thick, drunken accents that he was falling--he was a
goner--he was a goner!--"Tell Polly Ann how I died--how I died--how I
died!"----All the solemn rocks and all the impressive dark solitudes
echoed and re-echoed the serio-comic mandate, till even after Jardine
had crossed he noted a crag that was still rehearsing the words as if
in conscious mimicry.
There seemed no goal to this night jaunt, and Mr. Jardine was beginning
to feel a fool in his own estimation--a catastrophe he dreaded, for he
was fain to think well of himself--when he met two or three hilarious,
roaring wights coming townward singing with more uproarious mirth than
melody--"A leetle mo' cider, too, an' a leetle mo' cider, too."
He was glad of the darkness that precluded their notice, as they
passed, that he was of a different type from that proclaimed by their
accent. But as he turned a sudden curve of the road obscurity no
longer protected him. He must have been instantly visible even at the
distance in the flaring fires of an encampment which sent far-reaching
red pulsations through the woods and across the dark waters of the
river. A dozen torch standards, after the manner of the lights of the
street fair, showed rude tables whereon barbecued meats, salt-rising
breads, and home-made cakes and pies were dispensed at prices which no
doubt undercut the charges for such refreshments in the town. There
were two barrels, brazenly displayed, placed close together with a
small plank, shelf-like, from one to the other, holding glasses and a
big blue pitcher. In the background was a stanch waggon, of which the
white canvas hood was no mean shelter from the weather had one needed
it; two or three of the dogs were now asleep on the straw beneath it.
An old woman, a younger one, with an infant in arms, and a girl of
eighteen, perhaps, grouped about the fire gave a touch of domesticity
to the scene. Naught could seem further removed from the suggestion of
law-breaking and defiance of vested authority. An eating-stand at a
distance from the town, to escape the municipal tax on a lunch counter,
and yet catch the country custom, to make some small profits on the
occasion and see the Carnival--what more candid? Jardine felt pierced
through and through with the vigilance of the eyes focussed upon him as
he advanced in the light. And never was there more virtuous indignation
expressed in voice and manner than was shown by an elderly man with a
bushy red beard and a pale stolid face and a brown jeans suit, standing
at the refreshment counter, as Jardine came up and proffered his
request.
"Brandy--or whisky? why, stranger, we ain't sellin' whisky and brandy.
It's agin the Fed'ral law 'thout ye air able to pay a tax and hire a
spy to watch you. And it's agin the town law, bein' a dry town. We uns
hev got a good supper cooked an' some powerful ch'ice apple cider hyar
though. We uns got a fine orcherd in good bearin' this year, but we
wouldn't even sell a bottle o' cider--we sell by the drink--thar ain't
no money in it cept' by the drink."
And when Jardine had declined this refreshment the old woman beside
the fire rose and came forward and earnestly essayed to sell him one
of the home-made baskets. She was most voluble as she recommended her
wares. "They ain't no cur'ous baskets like them Injuns make over ter
Qualla-town, stranger," she said. "They ain't no quare shape with some
kind o' spell in the weavin'they tell me that _them_ baskets kin be
read like a book by them ez hev got the key o' the braid. But I ain't
one as would want some onholy witch-like savage saying ter be in use
round my fireside, a-repeatin' a spell or a curse on me an' mine ever'
time it was handled in the light. Now, hyar is a reg'lar, homefolks,
sanctified, Christian basket, ez don't mean nuthin' but a quarter of a
dollar. That's all the magic there is about it. It's good and solid
and roomy, stranger, an' yer lady would find it so convenient to hold
chips around the hearthstone. Try it, stranger--jes' twenty-five cents."
Jardine was ashamed to refuse altogether any expenditure of money and
presently he was trudging along the road to Colbury with the basket in
his hand and a fund of information as to the ingenious methods in which
the moonshiners were successfully defying the Federal law. Had he been
known to the distillers, or perhaps had he merely demanded a drink he
would have been served with the brush whisky in one of the primitive
gourds, since the evidence must needs have gone down his throat at the
stand, and few men would have sought the informer's reward at the risk
of the informer's fate on the testimony of a recollected flavour, which
is hardly proof in any court. That the two barrels indeed contained
cider was obvious by the fragrance--the more fiery liquor was in some
secret receptacle not so easily seen and seized, secured perhaps when
the moonshiner turned back to the spring, which he did more than once
to rinse the gourds in the waters of its branch.
Despite the appearance of an invincible security, however, Jardine was
forcibly reminded of the pitcher that goes to the well; he saw clearly
in the future the inevitable consequences of the extreme daring of
the old moonshiner, rendered unduly venturesome by long immunity and
prideful faith in his own ingenious craft. The idea struck Jardine's
mind, with a most unpleasant collocation of circumstances, that the
Street Fair must profit largely by this extraordinary opportunity to
the inebriates of the whole surrounding region. Since the closing
of the saloons in Colbury the poorer class, by far the larger, must
needs be constrained to purchase in the quantity by shipment from some
city, or in default of the price for this luxury, or the hindrance
of distance and ignorance, be reduced to the absolute despair of
temperance. Doubtless for the facilities of boozing by the drink they
had flocked into Colbury by scores, where in the close vicinity the
flowing bowl might be drained for a nickel, and the moonshiners might
justly have considered themselves entitled to a share of the profits of
the show since their powerful attraction must have added so largely to
the gate receipts. He shrugged his shoulders mechanically in the effort
to shake off the suspicion which he had begun to entertain. The Street
Fair was so obviously playing in hard luck; was so pitifully inadequate
as an exhibition, in his opinion; its financial resources were
evidently so limited that this phenomenal opportunity of recruiting
its exchequer rendered it peculiarly liable to a charge of collusion
with the moonshiners, in the estimation of almost any man seeking the
solution of the problem of so many inebriated spectators of the show
on the streets of a dry town. Only the appearance and manner of Lloyd
caused him to doubt his conclusion, and then he wondered at himself
that the endowments of unusual personal beauty, a thing valueless
in a man, absolutely apart from character or station, a gift, an
accident, together with a grave and gentlemanly address, which was also
a fortuitous circumstance, should weigh with him for an instant where
an itinerant faker was concerned. In this development of the situation
he was infinitely nettled that this man, the manager of the show,
and doubtless the prime mover and responsible agent of this unlawful
whisky traffic, should have been brought into any association with
Miss Laniston, however casual and temporary. He ground his teeth with
indignant contempt that it was possible that she should ever exchange
a syllable with such a man, should be seated beside him in the Ferris
Wheel in the midst of an attack upon him, stimulated by jealousy or
whisky or both. Jardine was not a profane man, for oaths are ever bad
form, but between his gritting teeth he cursed Frank Laniston again and
again that his callow folly should have left his position vacant by her
side, and open to the possibility of such a contretemps.
Jardine canvassed almost in a state of nervous panic the probability
that these facts might be remembered by the police should the camp of
the moonshiners be raided by the revenue force and the manager of the
Street Fair be implicated. Even if no more should result than a casual
mention in such an investigation it would be an indignity insupportable
in his estimation. And should the miscreant who attacked the manager be
discovered would not her testimony be required to establish the facts?
The tormentingly acute divination of the two young girls had fixed on
the culprit, he was convinced, and should some unwary word from them
lead to his discovery a prosecution would involve to them as witnesses
the most annoying and derogatory conspicuousness. He hardly knew how
he could answer to his friends, their respective fathers, that while
in his care, assumed of sheer good-will though it was, such social
inappropriateness could be permitted to supervene. They were not at the
end of this miserable tangle--and he felt greatly to blame. Yet with
no authority, a disregarded advice, a thousand hampering constraints
on speaking his mind candidly, how could he do more than he had in
protection, and counsel, and care? He wished to high heaven that the
Laniston Brothers were not so intent on turning the trick in the late
advance in the price of cotton, and would give their personal attention
to the precious interests of their families. He was conscious that
by this collective term he meant only Lucia, and he was fair enough
to admit to himself that under the chaperonage of her aunt, and with
the companionship of her cousins, male and female, and the volunteer
tutelage of a friend of the family, an experienced man of the world,
George Laniston was amply justified in thinking his only daughter safe
enough, and well out of harm's way.
So perverse were the circumstances that Jardine thought that even his
own excursion to-night might be subject to misconstruction--and he
hedged immediately on the chance. As he had not succeeded in his quest
there was certainly scant utility in seeming to have patronised the
moonshiners. There was no great change in the aspect of the town as he
entered it--a torch a-flare here and there among the tents; the street
lamps shining at regular intervals; the drug store alone alight among
the silent business houses of the quadrangle; the gas ablaze in the
hotel office, and although, so short was his absence, the duck was off
duty he still lingered in the room lighting a thick cigar at the little
lamp for the purpose on the counter.
"No go," said Jardine--he had earlier thrown away his basket.
The duck raised astonished eyebrows. "I'd resent that. Personal.
Listen, will you?"
A voice mellow, clear, floated in from the street--singing in
beatitude--marred only by hiccoughs, and now and then a wild
involuntary wail off the key. "We won't go home--we won't go home--we
won't go home till mornin',--till daylight doth appear."
When silence ensued the duck said significantly: "All the rope
they want--hang themselves--don't even run them in. Visitors soon.
Official."