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Marigold found him surrounded, as was his wont, by papers, and a fearsome collection of telephone receivers. He listened in silence to Mr. Marigold's account of his failure to trace Barling. "Marigold," he said, when the other had finished, "we must undoubtedly lay hold of this fellow. Let's see now... ah! I have it!"
Topping his long stiff body, Marigold's ugly one-eyed head appeared, and, as if he was tremendously proud of himself, he announced: "Major Boyce." Boyce strode quickly past him and, suddenly aware of Betty by my side, stopped short, like a private suddenly summoned to attention.
I abhorred his politics but I admired his work, and I continued, with Mrs. Marigold's motherly aid, to make much of Phyllis. Gedge, for queer motives of his own, sent her to as good a school as he could afford, as a matter of fact an excellent school, one where she met girls of a superior social class and learned educated speech and graceful manners.
But Betty, holding her own religious views, had only once been inside the church on the occasion of her wedding and had but the most formal acquaintance with the good man.... No, I could not send Betty home, unexpectedly, to have her wounds mauled about by unskilful fingers. Nothing remained but to telephone to the hospital and put her in Mrs. Marigold's charge for the night.
Marigold's famous potted shrimp and other comestibles, and had put him up, during here and there holidays and later a vacation, when his mother and aunts, with whom he lived, had gone abroad to take inefficacious cures for the tedium of a futile life. Oxford, however, had set him a bit off my plane.
Reckoning the penalty at six months each, you would have to go to prison for fifteen years." Marigold's one eye grew pensive and sad. "And they call this," said he, "a free country!" I began this chapter by remarking that for a week or two after my second interview with Randall Holmes, nothing particular happened.
She lit a cigarette for him in the most charming way in the world, and when he guided the hand that held the match, she touched his crisp hair lightly with the fingers of the other. She was all smiles. When we met in the drawing-room, she retailed with a spice of mischief much of Mrs. Marigold's advice. She had seated herself on the music stool.
He ended with a fearful imprecation, and an echo of his oath came from his fellows in defeat. Michael Thynne, Master of the Cygnet, a dazed and bleeding figure, snatched from the water by one of the Marigold's boats, spoke for his ship. "Came to us that were nearest the shore a boat out of the shadow and we saw but four or maybe five rowers. 'Who goes there? calls I, standing by the big culverin.
I brought her young husband in, and I put her hand in his, and my only farther words to both of them were these: "Doctor Marigold's last Prescription. To be taken for life." After which I bolted. There were only us three and the gentleman who had had charge of her for those two years. I give the wedding dinner of four in the Library Cart.
"It might mean," said the Professor "that is, assuming that it can be done at all Mrs. Marigold's returning to her former self entirely, taking no further interest in politics whatever." "I should be so very grateful," answered Marigold. The Professor had mislaid his spectacles, but thinks there was a tear in Marigold's eye. "I'll do what I can," said the Professor.
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