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Updated: May 23, 2025
"Good work, McAndrews," commended one of them, deep-voiced. The others murmured gruff approval. McAndrews, from conversation that I gathered, was night-watchman in the yards. He had one red-rimmed eye. The other was sightless but had a half-closed leer that seemed to express discreet visual powers.
Childhood habit drew me into the path to Wilmot House. I came upon it just as the sunlight was stretching level across the Chesapeake, and burning its windows molten red. I had been sitting long on the stone steps, when the gaunt figure of McAndrews strode toward me out of the dusk. "God be gude to us, it is Mr. Richard!" he cried.
I repeated, with a blank face. "Surely you cannot be ready for the Annapolis!" "McAndrews has instructions to send our things after," said she. "There! You are the first person I have told. You should feel honoured, sir." I sat down upon the grass by the brook, and for the moment the sap of life seemed to have left me. Dolly continued to twine the flowers.
Walter McAndrew, Attorney-at-Law, was in rather frequent demand in distant places, when the services of an especially acute lawyer were in demand. When these "cases," as Gloria termed them, called him to locations worth visiting, Mr. McAndrews delighted in taking his wife and ward with him.
She had sent a note across the street by a maid to prepare the District Nurse, and that cheerful little person was waiting for her as she tripped down the McAndrews' doorsteps after her hurried meal. "Am I late? Did I keep you waiting?" she cried. "Not more than a piece of a minute. I've been trying to scrape acquaintance with your beautiful cat, but he is above District Nurses."
Besides, if we had left the chickens, Charlie might not have gone, for he feeds them and watches over them as if they were his very own, and looks very cross if the striker gives them even a little corn. Night before last an unusually pleasant dancing party was given by Captain McAndrews, when Faye and I were guests of honor.
But I wanted badly to ask about his Grace. Where had my fine nobleman been at the critical point of his friend's misfortunes? For I had had many a wakeful night over that same query since my talk with McAndrews. "So you have come to your own again, Richard, my lad," said Mr. Marmaduke, breaking in upon my train.
Next I felt myself clutching the skin over his ribs in Arlington Street, when I had flung him across the room in his yellow night-gown. That brought me to the most painful scene of my life, when I had parted with Dorothy at the top of the stairs. Afterward followed scraps of the years at Gordon's Pride, and on top of them the talk with McAndrews. Here was the secret I sought. The crash had come.
"Now go on in an' fetch out the other bum," commanded the deep-voiced member of the posse, speaking with authority. "There wasn't but only this 'un," McAndrews replied, with renewed timidity in his voice, scarcely concealed, and jerking his thumb toward me. "But the little nigger said they was ain't that so, nigger?"
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