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George is killed, and now Frank! What can we do? what can we do, mother?" he asked, helplessly. While he was groaning, his wife rose up with that energy which so often atoned for the lack of it in him. "I am going to Roanoke Island! I am going to my child in the hospital!" That very day she set out. Alone she went, but she was not long without a companion.
Finding Gutchall's address in the directory, he lifted the telephone, and stretched his handkerchief over the mouthpiece. Then he dialed Police Headquarters. "This is Blake Hartley," he lied, deepening his voice and copying his father's tone. "Frank Gutchall, who lives at...take this down" he gave Gutchall's address "has just borrowed a pistol from me, ostensibly to shoot a dog. He has no dog.
At first he found it tiresome, being on his feet all day, for the cash-boys were not allowed to sit down, but he got used to this, being young and strong. All this was very satisfactory, but one thing gave Frank uneasiness. His income was very inadequate to his wants. "What makes you so glum, Frank?" asked Jasper Wheelock one evening. "Do I look glum?" said Frank.
"Well, it seemed to be pretty generally known about Bloomsbury that Todd had not always been as straight as he is today; and lots of people believed he would never hold his place a week; but he's had it all summer now, and seems to be giving satisfaction, all right," Frank went on to say. "But there was a past, you mean; Todd had gone the pace, and used to drink and gamble, I suppose.
He had no real near neighbors livin' a little out of town but those who was nearest said a wagon had gone by in the night, an' they though it stopped at her door. Well, tracks always tell, an' there was the wagon tracks an' hoss tracks an' man tracks. The news spread like wildfire that Milly had run off from her husband. Everybody but Frank believed it an' wasn't slow in tellin' why she run off.
General Cheatham, all the time, was calling on the men to go forward, saying, "Come on, boys, and follow me." The impression that General Frank Cheatham made upon my mind, leading the charge on the Wilkerson turnpike, I will never forget. I saw either victory or death written on his face.
His fancy was tickled by the anticipation of his friend's surprise. Then the thought of the valuable gifts he had received occurred to him, and he looked gratefully at Frank. "You're a brick," he said. "A what?" "A brick! You're a jolly good fellow to give me such a present." "You're quite welcome, Dick," said Frank, kindly.
She had always admired his good taste in clothes, and the way he carried himself in them; and now she was to see him in garments which no dignity of body could make presentable. Only a stoic sense of his own soul-dignity aided him here. After all, as he now thought, he was Frank A. Cowperwood, and that was something, whatever he wore. And Aileen knew it.
Williams, who sent me this morning notice of his going into the country tomorrow, but could not find him, but meeting with Frank Moore, my Lord Lambeth's man formerly, we, and two or three friends of his did go to a tavern, and there they drank, but I nothing but small beer.
"Yes, it is too bad," said the major; "for now we shall be obliged to run the risk of being captured, in order to procure food. But let us move on, and get as far away from this place as possible." Frank silently shouldered his rifle, and followed the major, who threaded his way along in the edge of the woods, taking care to keep out of sight of any one who might be in the house.
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