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"Will Miss Andrews kindly step forward and ask the question nearest her heart?" "Oh no!" the girl answered, with a sincerity that left no one quite free to laugh. "Some other lady, then?" Bushwick suggested. No one moved, and he added, "This is a difficulty which had been foreseen. Some gentleman will step forward and put the question next his heart."
I'm glad she has the decency to be ashamed of her behavior." "I'm not defending her. Miss Macroyd knows how to take care of herself." The matter rather dropped for the moment, in which Bushwick filled a pipe he took from his pocket and lighted it. After the first few whiffs he took it from his mouth, and, with a droll look across at Verrian, said, "Who was your fair friend?"
Another of the men went round to tempt his fate, and the phantom suddenly reappeared so near him that he got a laugh by his start of dismay. "I forgot what I was going to ask, he faltered. "I know what it was," the apparition answered. "You had better sell." "But they say it will go to a hundred!" the man protested. "No back talk, Rogers!" Bushwick interposed. "That was the understanding.
Robert wondered whether the allusion to the lecture was said soberly or in sarcasm. "In London they go wild over dancing. Maybe I might sing a song about her if ye would like to hear it." "I would like very much to hear it." Mr. Bushwick took the quid of tobacco from his mouth, cleared his throat, and sang,
Again no one offered to go forward, and there was some muted laughter, which Bushwick checked. "This difficulty had been foreseen, too. I see that I shall have to make the first move, and all that I shall require of the audience is that I shall not be supposed to be in collusion with the illusion. I hope that after my experience, whatever it is, some young woman of courage will follow."
"Oh, I beg your pardon," Bushwick said. "I thought I had seen your name with that of a West Side concern." "No, I have a sort of outside connection with the publishing business." "Oh," Bushwick returned, politely, and it would have been reassuringly if Verrian had wished not to be known as an author.
He turned quickly, with a certain expectance in his nerves, and saw nothing more ghostly than Bushwick standing at the corner of the table and apparently hesitating how to speak to him. He said, "Hello!" and at this Bushwick said: "Look here!" "Well?" Verrian asked, looking at him. "How does it happen you're up so late, after everybody else is wrapped in slumber?" "I might ask the same of you."
"A speech from the throne, yes," Bushwick solemnly corrected her. "And she's got it written down, like a queen haven't you, Mrs. Westangle?" "Yes, I thought it would be more respectful." "She coming out," Bushwick said to Verrian across the table.
The second boat was manned for a chase; she pursued in vain; one man from her bow fired several shots at the boat, and a few guns were fired at her from the Bushwick shore; but all to no effect, and the boat passed Hell-gate in the evening, and arrived safe in Connecticut next morning. "A spring of the writer was a favorite watering-place for the British shipping.
Perhaps she'll take up supplying ideas to authors as well as hostesses. Of course, I mean Mrs. Westangle." Verrian wished he had not tried to push Miss Macroyd, and he was still grinding his teeth in a vain endeavor to get out some fit retort between them, when he saw Bushwick shuffling to his feet, in the front row of the spectators, and heard him beginning a sort of speech.
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