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Richard Horn's compliments, and would St. George be pleased to accept a basket of Maryland biscuit and a sallylunn just out of the oven." Mrs. Bowdoin's compliments with three brace of ducks "a little late in the season, my dear St. George, but they are just up from Currytuck where Mr. Bowdoin has had extremely good luck for Mr. Bowdoin." "Mrs. Cheston's congratulations, and would Mr.
He had been out of his head for days and days. To Mr. Bowdoin's peppery query why the devil she had not sent for him, Mrs. Hughson had nothing to say. It had never occurred to her, perhaps, that the well-being of such a quaint, dried-up old chap as Jamie could be a matter of moment to his wealthy employers whom she had never known. "Can I see him?" asked Mr. Bowdoin.
An ill-favored, slight man was he, stooping of habit; and he came in rubbing his hands and looking anxiously, one eye on the father, the other on the son, as his oddly protuberant eyes almost enabled him to do. "There is a ship coming up the harbor, sir, full-laden, and I think she flies the signal of James Bowdoin's Sons." "Damn James Bowdoin's Sons, sir!" says Mr. James Bowdoin.
Here these novel consignments to the old house of James Bowdoin's Sons were safely deposited on the floor; and the clerk and the young master, eased of their burdens, but not disembarrassed, looked at one another.
Clair," and so her name was changed. "Something over twenty thousand dollars. I have come for it now." The other directors looked at old Mr. Bowdoin for visual evidence of a failing mind. "It's in the safe there, in a box. Mr. Stanchion, please get down the old tin box marked 'James Bowdoin's Sons; there are the papers. The child's other grandfather, one Romolo Soto, gave it me himself, in 1829.
Bowdoin's progress became subject to impediments of laughter, which were less successfully suppressed as they got farther away, and in which the young man finally joined. "Though it's really too bad," he added, by way of protest, now laughing harder than his grandfather. "I'm going to get her that carriage to-day," said the elder deprecatingly.
"Ah, 'tis a pity, sir, ye din't keep the old house up, for the sake of the young gentlemen, if nothing more," said he; and "Ah, Jamie," was Mr. Bowdoin's reply, "it's all dirty coal-barges now; the old house would not know its way about in steamers. We'll have to take to banking, like yourself and Sinclair there."
And in the night ensuing that dream became a vision; and he saw Mercedes alone in a distant city, without money or friends, her soft eyes looking wistfully at him in wonder that he did not come. The next morning Jamie went to old Mr. Bowdoin's office, at an hour when he knew he should find him alone.
Then he laid them on the desk again. He opened the day-book to make the necessary false entry. Which account was least likely to be drawn upon? Jamie turned the leaves rapidly. "James Bowdoin's Sons." Not that. "The Maine Lady." He took up the pen, started to make the entry; then dashed it to the floor, burying his face in his hands. He could not do it.
Bowdoin's; he had been murmuring rapidly, and there was a smile in them; but this now he lost, though the eyes had in them no look of recognition. He became silent as his look touched Mr. Bowdoin's face and glanced from it quickly, as do the looks of delirious persons and young children.
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