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Mussey, stout, affable, and cynic, a heavy drinker, untidy about his person and exacting about his engine-room, a veteran of his trade and it was said an ancient croney of Monk's.
"What a mind to have in the family!" she appealed to Mr. Swain. "Do you know, monsieur, it happens often to me to wonder how I should have so clever a brother?" "It is like that with me, too," Lanyard insisted warmly. He made an early excuse to get away, having something new to think about. Mr. Mussey put up a stiffer fight than Mr.
"I'll say it's decent of you damned decent. Blowed if I'd take it as calm as you, if I waked up to find somebody in my room." "I believe," said Lanyard pointedly, "you stipulated for a few minutes' chin with me. Time passes, Mr. Mussey. Get to your business, or let me go to sleep again." "Sharp, you are," commented the mutter. "I've noticed it in you.
These were such close imitations of nature that the late Professer Mussey, of Cincinnati, pronounced them superior to the French models at Paris by Auzoux. At Youngstown he made a life size bust of Judge George Tod, copies of which are now in the family.
Mussey asserted that his engines could at a pinch deliver twenty knots an hour; yet day in and day out the Sybarite poked along at little better than half that speed.
Mussey could be trusted to hold to his overnight agreement. But as to that, one entertained few fears. One felt quite sure that Mr. Mussey would perform duly to the letter of his covenant.
Mussey, and he could only assume that since Popinot could hardly have been in the motor car wrecked on the road from Paris he must have left that pursuit to trusted confrères, and, anticipating their possible failure, have hurried on to Cherbourg by another route to make precautionary arrangements with Mr. Mussey.
I only regret that this article is the exception, and not the rule, on our tables. When I reflect on the possibilities which beset the delicate stomach in this line, I do not wonder that my venerated friend Dr. Mussey used to close his counsels to invalids with the direction, "And don't eat grease on your bread."
Lanyard echoed witlessly: "Mussey?" "Yes. I don't wonder you're surprised, but if you'll be easy you'll understand pretty soon why I had to have a bit of a talk with you without anybody's catching on." "Well," Lanyard said, "I'm damned!" "I say!" The subdued mutter took on a note of anxiety. "It's all right, isn't it? I mean, you aren't going to kick up a rumpus and spill the beans?
Mussey, the spoils of the captain's safe in his hands. Then one saw Monk, alarmed by the sudden failure of the lights, hurrying out to return to the bridge, the pantherish spring upon the victim's back, the swift, dextrous noosing of the handkerchief about his windpipe, the merciless tightening of it all abruptly illuminated by the white glare of Phinuit's electric torch.
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