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Chess Copley had kept by Ruth's side almost all the evening, and although Helen treated him so cavalierly, she seemed provoked at her chum for paying the young man so much attention. "I don't understand what you see in Chess," she said in a vexed tone to the girl of the Red Mill. "He's nothing much." "He is pleasant, and you used to like him," said Ruth quietly. "Humph!" Helen tossed her head.
Copley was an English boy, and he was about a year older than Rollo. Rollo first saw him at the door of the hotel, as he, Copley, was dismounting from his horse, on his return from a ride which he had been taking into the country. He had been attended on his ride by a servant man named Thomas. Thomas dismounted from his horse first, and held the bridle of Copley's horse while Copley dismounted.
Why a pictur' worth lookin' at, too. Why? because it's natur'. "Now, look here, Squire; let Copley, if he was alive, but he ain't; and it's a pity too, for it would have kinder happified the old man, to see his son in the House of Lords, wouldn't it? Squire Copley, you know, was a Boston man; and a credit to our great nation too. P'raps Europe never has dittoed him since.
A gray paper with a small gold sprig upon it, sofas and chairs not too luxurious, a Brussels carpet, dark and unobtrusive, and chintz curtains; on the walls, drawings by David Cox, Copley Fielding, and De Wint; a few books with Mudie labels; costly photographs of friends and relations, especially of the relations' babies; on one table, and under a glass case, a model in pith of Lincoln Cathedral, made by Lady Lucy's uncle, who had been a Canon of Lincoln; on another, a set of fine carved chessmen; such was the furniture of the room.
She had never made continuity, as it is called, for that is more or less of a mechanical process and is sure to interfere with the creative faculty of the screen writer. In the afternoon of this day Helen engaged a motor-boat, and she and Ruth set out for the Copley island, which was some miles away, toward Alexandria Bay.
Copley," said he, putting his hand to his brow. "This image! Can it have been my work? Well, I have wrought it in a kind of dream; and now that I am broad awake I must set about finishing yonder figure of Admiral Vernon."
There rose a groan, however, when it was seen that roly-poly Chub Tuttle was the next sticker. Tuttle justified the hopeless ones by popping a dinky little fly into Sanger's hands. "It's all off! It's all over!" crowed Copley, tossing the catching mask spinning aside. "You've only got to get three more, cap. The way you're pitching, it'll be like picking ripe fruit."
But you don't like Mr. Copley." "What has that to do with it?" rejoined Helen smartly. "I would go adventuring with any boy even 'Lasses." "Don't call him that," commanded Ruth. "Pooh! He likes it. Or he used to." "He is a nice fellow," Ruth declared, with more earnestness than there really seemed to be necessity for. "I de-clare!" murmured Helen. "Really! Does the wind sit in that quarter?"
"No," replied Copley; "he is going directly home by water. He is going down to Civita Vecchia, to take the steamer there for Marseilles, and I don't want to go that way." Copley then asked Rollo to go out into the Corso with him.
Copley," said Drowne, quietly, "I know nothing of marble statuary, and nothing of the sculptor's rules of art; but of this wooden image, this work of my hands, this creature of my heart," and here his voice faltered and choked in a very singular manner, "of this of her I may say that I know something.
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