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He ran his hand over Greenfield's belt and removed his pistol. "Sorry," he said curtly, standing up. "Quite keerect, Bub!" "Can I do anything for you?" "Nope." Suddenly, without warning, Greenfield raised himself, glared at him, stretched out his hands, and fell into a passionate fit of weeping. Frawley's English reserve was outraged. "What's the matter?" he said angrily.
Above them a lazy buzzard, wheeling in languid circles, followed with patient conviction. On the fourth morning Frawley's horse stopped, shuddered, and went down in a heap. Greenfield halted and surveyed his discomfiture grimly, without a sign of elation. "That's bad, very bad," Frawley said judicially. "I ought to have sent word to the department.
"I would like to observe," said Frawley thoughtfully, without noticing his surprise, "that there is a bit of an error in that description, sir. It's the left ear that's broken. Furthermore, he don't toe out excepting when he does it on a purpose. So it's Bucky Greenfield I'm to bring back, sir?" The Secretary nodded, penciling Frawley's correction on the paper.
She thought she would be guided by circumstances as to whether she would confide all to them, or whether she would continue her secrecy as to her movements. Mrs. Bixby attended to her in the dressing-room. All of Miss Frawley's costumes, it was found, could be altered to fit Azalea. As one in a dream, the girl stood to be fitted, while seamstresses and modistes hovered about her.
Through the door the children appeared, tumbling over one another, in grotesque attitudes. Suddenly, as though in the breeze he had caught the sound of a step, Greenfield jerked almost free of Frawley's arms, shuddered, and fell back rigid. The pistol, flung into the air, twirled, pitched on the floor, and remained quiet.
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