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What if her friend were developing the same terrible disease? If it were so, it was no use fussing, since there was no remedy. Still, she felt a desperate need to take some sort of precaution. "If I were you, M.," she said, "I'd go to bed and keep very quiet for a day or two. You're so so odd, and excited, they'd notice it if you went down-stairs." "Would they?" asked Milly, suddenly sobered.
Sir Aubrey was morose and silent, and she exchanged most of her badinage with Stephens, who was superintending the packing of the tiffin basket that would accompany her in charge of the man who had been selected as her personal servant, and who was waiting, with Mustafa Ali and about ten men, to ride with her. The time for starting came. Stephens was fussing about the horse that Diana was to ride.
All the little streams running." He sighed. "'T ain't no use in fussing. I don't remember to have ever seen you before, but then we're all mixed up " "We are," said Steve. "Ain't the racket awful?" "Awful. 'T is going to be like running the gauntlet, to run that town, and we're most there. If I don't get out alive, and if you ever go to New Bedford Whoa, there! Look out!"
He would shake down one sensation for Mount Hope before he got away, and he would not go alone. "I suppose you were at the trial to-day?" Evelyn said. "Yes, I was there for a little while this afternoon," he answered. "It's rather tame yet, they're still fussing over the jury." "How is Jack bearing it?" she asked. Her question seemed to depress Gilmore. "Why do you care about how he takes it?
At first it was enough to have Dick there, to stop in the doorway of his room and see him within, occupied with the prosaic business of getting into his clothes or out of them, now and then to put a hand on his shoulder, to hear him fussing in the laboratory again, and to be called to examine divers and sundry smears to which Dick attached impressive importance and more impressive names.
"I know it," said Plank, the painful flush deepening. Mortimer, fussing and growling over his cigar, was nevertheless stealthily intent on the game which had so long absorbed him. His wits, clogged, dulled by excesses, were now aroused to a sort of gross activity through the menace of necessity. At last Plank had given him an opening. He recognised his chance.
"They're all soft again," he said dolefully. "Keep 'em that way for the next few years, while you're getting your education. You can harden 'em up after." "Ye-es, I suppose so," was the reply, in no delighted voice. "It rests with you, Harve. You can take cover behind your mama, of course, and put her on to fussing about your nerves and your high-strungness and all that kind of poppycock."
When not engaged in running errands or fussing over his postage-stamp album, Willie spent most of his time teasing old Scraggs, the scrivener, an unsuccessful teetotaler.
"I might have hung on until something happened, I suppose, if I hadn't shown my hand. And I hadn't quite the right to show my hand, when you take everything into consideration. But you can't always do what you intend to. And life's a little bigger than deportment, anyway, so what's the use of fussing over it? There's just one thing, though, I want to say, before we pull down the shutters again.
But in a corner of my study Jo Matthews and I put up some three-cornered shelves, on which I kept about a hundred books such as children like, and young people who are no longer children; and then, as I sat reading, writing, or stood fussing over my fuchsias or labelling the mineralogical specimens, there would come in one or another nice girl or boy, to borrow a "Rollo" or a "Franconia," or to see if Ellen Liston had returned "Amy Herbert."
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