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Or else for what did he pay Sanderson the twenty-five thousand? Not for this mangy town-site, that's sure an' certain." A chorus of cries affirmed Saltman's judgment. "Well, what are we goin' to do now?" someone queried dolefully. "Me for one for breakfast," Wild Water Charley said cheerfully. "You led us up a blind alley this time, Bill." "I tell you I didn't," Saltman objected. "Smoke led us.
"You've been sitting at the feet of a staunch old Tory Gamaliel named Colonel Cowles. I can see that. Ah, me! My garrulity has cost us a splendid chance to cross. What are all these dreadful things you have still left to do on your so-called holiday?" "Well," said she, "first I'm going to Saltman's to buy stationery. Boxes and boxes of it, for the Department. Bee! Come here, sir!
So the verdict went to Hen Cooney, who telephoned from Saltman's; and so it went to Jem Noonan, who was to be found waiting in front of the Dabney House every evening in these days, silently biting a Heth Plantation Cheroot, which he smoked because Kern made them, though secretly preferring the White River brand, made by the Trust. A great capacity for waiting had Jem.
"Who was that?" said Canning, suspending conversation to bow, with Carlisle, to a passing female pedestrian. "Oh," she laughed, a little vexedly, roused from her meditations "just one of my poor relations." "Ah?" said he, a trifle surprised. A far cry, indeed, from the celebrated dowager, friend of diplomats and presidents, to Miss Cooney of Saltman's bookstore, in a three-year-old skirt.
Smoke gripped his ankle and threw him in a headlong tumble. From down the hill came anxious questioning whistles. Saltman sat up and whistled a shrill answer, and was grappled by Smoke, who rolled him face upward and sat astride his chest, his knees resting on Saltman's biceps, his hands on Saltman's shoulders and holding him down. And in this position the stampeders found them.
So they had driven three from Saltman's to the old hotel, where she had thought to come to a meeting to-day. And then Henrietta, who had come out from her typewriter strong and white as ice, methodically sticking in hatpins as she crossed the sidewalk; Hen, the iron-hearted, had quite suddenly broken down; laying her cold face in Cally's lap, weeping wildly that she would not bear it....
"Come on, Shorty; we'll be getting along," Smoke said, mushing the dogs. The crowd formed in behind and followed. "Say, ain't you-all made a mistake?" Shorty gibed. "When we met you you was goin', an' now you're comin' without bein' anywheres. Have you lost your tag?" "You go to the devil," was Saltman's courtesy. "We go and come just as we danged feel like. We don't travel with tags."
That Wednesday night was the worst I ever spent...." And Cally felt apologetic to her poor relative to-day, a good deal ashamed before her. The Heths had not built walls around their little island for nothing.... They were in the limousine, she and Hen, driving down to Saltman's. Hen said she would be delighted to come in that evening, and play bridge with Uncle Thornton.
As a wealthy old friend of mine once remarked, people who read that sort of books never make over eighteen hundred a year." On that they turned into Saltman's. There much stationery and collateral stuff was bought for cash paid down, and all for the use of the Department. Next, at a harness-store, a leash was bargained for and obtained, and Behemoth bowled over no more young men that day.
The car started from Saltman's door, and Cally glanced at her watch: it was just three o'clock. Probably at this moment Dr. Vivian and papa were shaking hands in the office at the Works. Why, oh, why, hadn't she said that she would go, too, as she had so much wanted to do? Surely she could not have harmed that meeting; she might even have helped a little.
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