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Cynthia, seized by a panic of shame, flew into Aunt Lucy Prescott's, sat through half an hour of torture while Aunt Lucy talked of redemption of sinners, during ten minutes of which Jethro stood, still contemplative. What tumult was in his breast, or whether there was any tumult, Cynthia knew not.
When they got up from the table, Susan suddenly remembered the note which she had left in her coat pocket. She drew out the clippings with it. "I wonder what Miss Sadler is sending mamma clippings for," she said. "Why, Cynthia, they're about your uncle. Look!" And she handed over the article headed "Jethro Bass."
What are you doing in Washington?" Jethro took the hand, but he did not answer the question. "Er Senator when can I see the President?" "Why," answered the senator, somewhat taken aback, "why, to-night, if you like. I'm going to the White House in a few minutes and I think I can arrange it." "T-to-morrow afternoon t-to-morrow afternoon?"
"I believe," said Cynthia heroically, "I believe it was a boy named Somers Duncan-and Bob Worthington." "Er Bob Worthington," repeated Jethro, but said nothing more. Of course Coniston, and presently Brampton, knew that Bob Worthington had serenaded Cynthia and Coniston and Brampton talked. The painter had long ago discovered that Cynthia was an individual.
She was, indeed, preparing to sweep away when there came a familiar tap-tap behind them on the bare floor, and he turned to behold Ephraim hobbling toward them with the aid of his green umbrella, Cynthia by his side. "Why, it's Uncle Jethro," cried Cynthia, looking at him and the lady in astonishment, and then with equal astonishment at the models. "What in the world are you doing here?"
"It is not Jethro and Antonius." said Petrus, "they have a key." Marthana had gone up to him, and she clung to him as he leaned far out of the window and called to whoever it was that had tapped: "Who is that knocking?" The dogs barked so loud that neither the senator nor the women were able to hear the answer which seemed to be returned.
"Go, Jethro Fawe of all the Fawes," he said. "Go, and may no patrins mark your road!" Jethro Fawe shrank back, and half raised his arm, as though to fend himself from a blow. The patrin is the clue which Gipsies leave behind them on the road they go, that other Gipsies who travel in it may know they have gone before.
Mysa felt ashamed that she had been on the point of giving way on the very first day of their starting on their real journey, and struggled bravely on; but both girls were utterly exhausted by the time they arrived at the wells. They felt rewarded, however, for their sufferings by the hearty commendation Jethro bestowed upon them.
"We may as well call it that," laughed Wetherell. "It's not too good for Cynthy," he said. "Nothing's too good for Cynthy," answered Mr. Wetherell, mockingly, little knowing how he might come to mean it. Jethro Bass paid no attention to this speech.
What do you call reasonable?" "I'll sell 'em to you for for well, say nineteen dollars a share." "Humph! Don't bother me any more, Raish." "Well, say eighteen dollars a share. Lord sakes, that's reasonable enough, ain't it?" "Cruise along towards home, Raish. I've talked all the business I want to on Sunday. Good-by." "Look here, Jethro, I I'm hard up, I'm desp'rate, pretty nigh.
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