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Updated: June 17, 2025
"I noticed that she had a pretty head, which she carried gracefully, but it was against the window, and I couldn't make out the face." "That," said the head waiter, with pride either in the fact or for the effect it must produce, "was Miss Phyllis Desmond." Gaites started as satisfactorily as could be wished. "Indeed?" "Yes; she's engaged to play here the whole summer."
It was no question with Gaites whether he should bring up the end of the procession; he could not think of any consideration that would have stayed him.
Miss Desmond would never have played here intends to take pupils in Portland in the winter if Miss Axewright hadn't come," and the pleasant old tabby purred on, with a velvety pat here, and a delicate scratch there. But Gaites heard with one ear only; the other was more devotedly given to the orchestra, which also claimed both his eyes.
The thing that he had to guard against was not to praise the river sunsets too much at any cottage on the Point; and in cottages on the river, not to say a great deal of the surf on the rocks. But it was easy to respect the amiable local susceptibilities, and Gaites got on so well that he told people he was never going away. He had arrived at this extreme before he received the note from Mrs.
"Guess Union Dippo'll do, though;" and Gaites, a little overcome with its splendor, found that it would. He faltered a moment in passing the conductor and porter at the end of the Pullman car on his train, and then decided that it would be ridiculous to take a seat in it for the short run to Burymouth. In the common coach he got a very good seat on the shady side, where he put down his hand-bag.
Still Gaites clung to the refuge of his lies, and upon the whole it served him well, or at least enabled him to temporize in safety, while he was making the progress in Miss Axewright's affections which, if he had not been her lover, he never would have imagined difficult.
Why didn't I think of that?" and she affixed a signature in which the baptismal name gave away her romantic and impulsive generation Elaine W. Maze. "Now," she triumphed, as Gaites helped her into her trap "now I shall have a little peace of my life!" Mrs. Maze had no great trouble in making Gaites stay over Sunday. The argument she used was, "No freight out till Monday, you know."
Gaites had already had a cantaloupe, whose spicy fragrance lingered in the air and mingled with the robuster odors of the coffee, the steak, and the bacon. He owned to being a fuss, but he contended that he was a cheerful fuss, and when things went reasonably well with him, he was so. They were going well with him now, not only in the small but in the large way.
"And can you tell me whether they happen to have a female freight agent there?" "Not to my knowledge," said Gaites, with a mystical smile. "Then do you know anybody there by the name of Elaine W. Maze?" "Mrs. Maze? Yes, I know Mrs. Maze. She has a cottage, there." "And can you tell me why Mrs. Maze should be telegraphing me about my piano?"
The dining-room was painted a self-righteous olive-green; it was thoroughly netted against the flies, which used to roost in myriads on the cut-paper around the tops of the pillars, and a college-student head waiter ushered Gaites through the gloom to his place with a warning and hushing hand which made him feel as if he were being shown to a pew during prayers.
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