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I am no politician, but allow me to propose this toast, 'Success to those who have the wit to plan, and the strength to execute. In other words, 'the Right Divine!" Soon afterwards the guests retired. "Ros. Happily, he's the second time come to them." Hamlet.
"He'll know more about it than anybody else. Hey, Ros, how many hired help does he keep, anyhow? Thoph says it's eight, but I know I counted more'n that, myself." "It's eight, I tell you," broke in Newcomb, before I could answer. "There's the two cooks and the boy that waits on 'em " "The idea of having anybody wait on a cook!" interrupted Mullet. "That's blame foolishness."
"What the dickens are you fellers drivin' at?" demanded Anderson. The remainder of his posse deserted the red-hot stove and drew near with the instinctive feeling that something dreadful had happened. "Ro Rosalie has been missin' sence early last night. She was grabbed by some feller near Mrs. Luce's, chucked into a big wagon an' rushed out of town before Ros Crow could let out a yell.
Any sudden bad news or shock might well, goodness knows what effect it might have. She must not be worried. Ros " after one has visited Denboro five times in succession he is generally called by his Christian name "Ros, if you've got any worries you keep 'em to yourself." I had worries, plenty of them. Our little fortune, saved, as we thought, from the wreck, suffered a severe shrinkage.
Paine in? says she. 'In? says I " "Just like a poll parrot," interjected Dorinda. "Are you goin' to let me tell this or ain't you? 'In? says I; hadn't sensed it yet, you see. 'Is Mrs. Paine to home? she says. Now your ma, Ros, ain't never been nowheres else BUT home sence land knows when, so I supposed she must mean somebody else. 'Who? says I, again. 'Mrs. Comfort Paine, says she.
But these memories are all foggy and mixed with dreams and nightmares. As I say, the next thing that I remember distinctly after staggering from the Colton library is Dorinda's knocking at the door of my bedroom. "Ros! Roscoe!" she was calling. "Can you get up now? There is somebody downstairs waitin' to see you." I turned over in bed and began to collect my senses. "What time is it, Dorinda?"
He had evidently concluded his conversation with the postmaster and now was bearing down majestically upon me, like a ten thousand ton steamer on a porgie schooner. "Hey, you Ros!" he roared. He was at my elbow, but he roared just the same. Skipper of a coaster in his early days, he had never outgrown the habit of pitching his voice to carry above a fifty-mile gale. "Hey, Ros.
Say, Ros," he laid his hand on my shoulder and bent to whisper in my ear: "Say, Ros," he said, "I'm glad to see you're takin' my advice." "Taking your advice?" I repeated, puzzled. "Yes; about not playin' with fire, you know. I ain't heard of you and the Princess cruisin' together for the past week. Thought 'twas best not to be too familiar with the R'yal family, didn't you?
I had spent the night pacing the floor and talking to Phineas, who was wide awake and full of stories and jokes, to which I paid little attention. Miss Colton did not come to the library again. From the rooms above I heard occasional sobs and exclamations in Mrs. Colton's voice. Once Doctor Quimby peeped in. He looked anxious and weary. "Hello, Ros!" he hailed, "I heard you were here.
O, valiant Robert de Ros! did I exclaim internally, as I gazed upon these good soldiers of the cross, where they lie sculptured on their sepulchres, O, worthy William de Mareschal! open your marble cells, and take to your repose a weary brother, who would rather strive with a hundred thousand pagans than witness the decay of our Holy Order!"
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