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This is our peculiar and household planet. Wanting it, what savage unsocial nights must our ancestors have spent, wintering in caves and unillumined fastnesses! They must have lain about and grumbled at one another in the dark. What repartees could have passed, when you must have felt about for a smile, and handled a neighbour's cheek to be sure that he understood it?
Sir Henry made a wry face. "It seems to me that your outlook is a trifle superficial, dear," he grumbled. "However now what the dickens is the matter?" The door had been opened by Mills, with his usual smoothness, but Jimmy Dumble, out of breath and excited, pushed his way into the room. "Hullo? What is it, Jimmy?" his patron demanded. "Beg your pardon, sir," was the almost incoherent reply.
Presently he heard his wife stirring. She opened the door of the room next to his, and he heard her: 'Frank, it's a quarter to eight. You will be late. 'All right, Mother. Why didn't you call me sooner? grumbled the lad. 'I didn't wake myself. I didn't go to sleep till morning, and then I slept. She went downstairs. Siegmund listened for his son to get out of bed. The minutes passed.
He went that night to Madame della Scala's house and sat for a full hour, in a little conservatory lighted with Chinese lanterns, alone with Cynthia West. "I don't know how it is," grumbled the General, "but Enid looks scarcely any better than she did before this precious engagement of hers.
"Well! this is a pretty pickle!" groaned Tom, at last as much disturbed as Helen had been. "It's no use, girls. We'll have to stop here till the storm is over. It is coming." "Well, that will be fun!" cried Ruth, cheerfully. "Of course we ought to be storm-bound in a deserted house. That is according to all romantic precedent." "Humph! you and your precedent!" grumbled her chum.
It sufficiently defines the two to say that although many a surly labourer in the parish grumbled that the vicar and his wife were "oncommon near", when money was concerned, there was nevertheless no trouble in which their aid was not invoked and their advice asked.
Janice was out of it like a flash with her schoolbooks and lunch. The bell was tolling. "Now, isn't that just like Janice Day?" grumbled Stella, following her from the automobile. "She is a sly little thing!" Mr. Broxton Day felt much more troubled than Janice possibly could feel about the disappearance of the treasure-box and the keepsakes it contained.
"And when we grumbled, ever the Bug sang new songs. He said that Three-Legs and Pig-Jaw and the rest were strong men, and that that was why they had so much. He said that we should be glad to have strong men with us, else would we perish of our own worthlessness and the Meat-Eaters. Therefore, we should be glad to let such strong men have all they could lay hands on.
"No not dead" grumbled the corporal. "But there is a lump on his brow the size of an egg, and God knows how long he has been lying here in this bed of mud." They had no restoratives, and the only thing was to convey him to the nearest habitation and demand shelter. They held a short council on the matter, and in the end Garin bade four of them take him up and carry him in a cloak.
"Lor' ha' mussy!" grumbled Morgan, "what a fuss we are making about a nigger. Pillows for him! Why don't master say, `Get the best bedroom ready, and put on clean sheets'? I say, Master George, think he'd come off black?"
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