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"Say, you've had lots of things happen to you, haven't you?" "Quite a few," answered the boy actor. "I've traveled around a good bit. But I think I like it here better than anywhere I've been." "I do too," said Lucile. "Traveling everyday makes one tired." A little later they reached Wayville, and Mr. Treadwell told Mr. Brown where to go in the automobile to look at the scenery.
Henri de Montorgueil paused from time to time, with neck craned forward, every sense on the alert, listening, like any poor, hunted beast, for the slightest sound which might betray the approach of danger. As many a time before, he reached the hollow tree in safety, felt for and found in the usual place the letter which the unfortunate girl Lucile had written to him.
Lucile, the mayor's youngest daughter, had had a nervous attack, and was being tended. A young girl, who served as Laurence's maid, was seated in the vestibule, on the lower stair, weeping bitterly. Several domestics were there also, frightened, motionless, not knowing what to do in all this fright. The drawing-room door was wide open; the room was dimly lighted by two candles; Mme.
The whole place seemed to him hideous and loathsome in the extreme. What it all meant he could not understand; all that he knew was that this seemed like another hideous trap into which he and Lucile had fallen, and that he must fly from it fly at all costs, before he betrayed M. le Marquis still further to these drink-sodden brutes. Another moment, and he feared that he might faint.
It gave forth a strange plop as she turned it over. "Some sort of liquid," she announced. "Probably seal-oil." With difficulty she untied the strings and opened the sack. Then quickly she pinched her nose. "Whew! What a smell!" "Let's see," said Lucile, dropping the bundle she had just dragged forth. "Yes, it's seal-oil. That's a good find." "Why? We can't use that stuff.
Bunny and Sue, up on the stage, looked at their father in some wonderment, while Lucile, who was to lead in the singing, glanced at her brother. Could the telegram be about them? Mr. Treadwell, who was off to one side of the stage getting everything ready for the last scene, came out now to tell Bunny, Sue, and the others to start the singing.
Disregarding this, the two girls lifted him gently, and, carrying him inside, set him on their sleeping-bag with the wall of the room as a prop to his back. "I believe his foot's hurt," said Lucile suddenly. "See how his skin-boot is torn!" To cut away the boot, which was stiff and frozen, was a delicate task.
I once borrowed his 'Lucile, but somehow I never got interested in it.
Things change rapidly in this Arctic world. We'd better explore our ice-floe, hadn't we? And don't you think we could eat a bit before we go?" Cheered by the very thought of something to be done, Lucile munched her half of the pilot biscuit and bit of reindeer meat contentedly.
"Now," suggested Lucile, "we'll put your middy on a paddle and set it up as a sign of distress; then, since the ice isn't piling, I think we might both sleep a little while." The flag was soon hoisted, and the girls, with the sealskin square beneath them, lay down under the deerskins and attempted to sleep. But the deerskins were not large enough to cover them, and kept sliding off.
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