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Updated: June 10, 2025
"Arca twenty thousand thunders!" "Not at all," smiled Rex a feeble, willful smile. Braith sat down and drew his chair beside Gethryn. "Wait a while, Rex." "I can't get well here, you know." "But you can get a bit stronger before you start on such a journey." "I thought the doctor told you the sooner I went south the better." That was true; Braith was silent a while.
Braith walked faster and faster; he was almost running when he reached his own door. There was a light in his window. He rushed up the stairs and into his room. Clifford was sitting there, his head in his hands. Braith touched him, trying to speak lightly. "Are you asleep, old man?" Clifford raised a colorless face to his. "What is it? Can't you speak?"
"Come on, we're off," shouted Thaxton from the stairway. Clifford seized Gethryn's arm, Elliott and Rhodes crowded on behind. A small earthquake shock followed as the crowd of students launched itself down the stairs. "Braith doesn't approve of my cutting the atelier so often," said Gethryn, "and he's right. I ought to have stayed." "Reggy going to back out?" cooed Clifford. "No," said Rex.
"Yes, going to get your heads smashed by a bullet or carved by a saber. What for? What business is it of yours?" "Braith thinks he looks like a Prussian and is afraid," mused Clifford. "Come on, won't you, Braith?" said Gethryn. "Are you going?" "Why not?" said the other, uneasily, "and why won't you?" "No French mob for me," answered Braith, quietly. "You fellows had better keep away.
You come loafing about Colette with your pockets stuffed with white bread and beef, and a bottle of wine at thirty francs and you can't really afford to give a dollar to the American Ambulance and Public Assistance, which Braith does, and he's half starved!" Hartman retreated to the curbstone, but West followed him, his face like a thunder-cloud.
The iron door still held, but a whole plate of metal was gone, and now as they looked a figure came creeping through, holding a torch. "Quick!" whispered Braith. "Jump!" and West hung dangling until Colette grasped him by the collar, and he was dragged out.
"Oh! none! Pick just passed me, and I felt as if I couldn't stand it any longer, so I pitched in." "Well, and now you're in for fine and imprisonment." "I suppose so," said Bulfinch, beaming. "Have you any money with you?" "No, unless I have some in your pocket?" said the little man, with a mixture of embarrassment and bravado that touched Braith, who saw what the confession cost him.
Braith leaned forward and looked steadily at a couple who were slowly moving toward them in deep conversation. "No," he said at last; and leaning back in his seat he refused to speak again. Bulfinch chattered on excitedly, and at last he brought his fist down on the table at his right, where Clifford sat drawing a caricature on the marble top.
With little effort Braith lifted the barred cover, scrambled out on his stomach, and easily raised Colette from West's shoulders. "Quick, old chap!" cried the latter. Braith twisted his legs around a fence-chain and leaned down again. The cellar was flooded with a yellow light, and the air reeked with the stench of petroleum torches.
Braith took it all as a matter of course, but this time failed to return as good as they gave. He took a seat beside Gethryn and said in a low tone: "I've just come from your house. There's a letter from the Salon in your box." Gethryn set down his wine untasted and reached for his hat. "What's the matter, Reggy? Has Lisette gone back on you?" asked Clifford, tenderly.
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