United States or Malawi ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Leander grimaced and rubbed his hands in an ecstasy of delight at finding a man who had the temerity to bandy words with Mrs. Dax. "Hum-m-m-ph!" she whinnied, with equine coquetry. "Guess it was rustlers brought you back as much as me." Judith, who had entered the room in time to hear Mrs. Dax’s last remark, greeted him casually, but her eyes, as they met his, were full of questioning fear.
"Did Mademoiselle give you any explanation, did she tell you what her motive was?" asked Monsieur Dax. "She told me she was too old to marry that she had waited too long. She said she had given much thought to the matter and while she had a great esteem, even affection, for Monsieur Darzac, she felt it would be better if things remained as they were.
They were still dusty from their long ride of the early morning, and more than once their fear-quickened imaginations had been haunted by the spectre of the dead cotton-woods, from which something heavy and limp and warm had been swaying when they left it. Henderson had secured the dancing Mrs. Dax for a partner. The "caller-out," stationed between the two rooms, warmed to his genial task.
Dax," pleaded Peter, boyishly, "I’m perishing for a cup of coffee, and I’ve got to get back to my outfit before dark." "Oh, go on with you," whinnied the gorgon; but she left the room to make the coffee. Judith’s eyes sought his. "Why don’t you and Leander form a coalition for the overthrow of the enemy?" His voice had dropped a tone lower than in his parley with Mrs.
Dax lost the job, and boards with us; p’r’aps it’s because she is my wife’s successor in office, or p’a’ps it’s jest the natural grudge that wimmin seem to harbor agin each other, I dunno, but they don’t sandwich none."
Chugg, comforted with liquids and stayed with a head-plaster, presented himself at the Dax ranch just twenty-four hours after he was due. His mien combined vagueness with hostility, and he harnessed up the stage that Peter Hamilton had driven over the day before, when his prospective passengers were looking, with a graphic pantomimic representation of "take it or leave it."
Breakfast was largely devoted to speculation regarding the approximate condition of Mr. Chugg—would he be wholly or partially incapacitated for his job? Mrs. Dax, flirting a feather-duster in the neighborhood of Miss Carmichael in a futile effort to beguile her into giving a reason for her solitary journey across the desert, took a gloomy view of the situation.
Forty more paces, Tita mia, and I swear to the holy Eloi, patron of all learned craftsmen, that I will never set foot over my door again until the whole swarm are safely hived in their camp of Dax, or wherever else they curse with their presence. Twenty more paces, my treasure: Ah, my God! how they push and brawl! Get in their way, Tita mia! Put your little elbow bravely out!
To the south-east, at Buglose, where St Vincent de Paul was born, the Pyrenees show far and faint and blue on the horizon. And then suddenly the River Adour appears, and a country which was English. Dax was ours for centuries, and so was Bayonne, whose modern citadel has had a rare fate for any place of strength.
Henderson, the foreman, whose face had not lost its tallow paleness despite the number of his potations, put his head through the door to have a look at the dancing Mrs. Dax, was caught in the outermost eddy of the whirling throng, and was soon dancing as madly as the others. The rest of the "XXX" party still hugged the bunk-room, where the bottles gleamed hospitable.
Word Of The Day