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General Van Rensselaer, from the American shore, sent word to Wadsworth to retreat. Colonels John Chrystie and Scott, of the regulars, and Captains James Mead, Strahan, and Allen, of the militia, and Captains Ogilvei, Wool, Joseph Gilbert, Totten, and McChesney, took council of their desperate situation.
Emma McChesney stood before the mirror, the cruel little hat perched atop her hair, ready to give it the final and critical bash which should bring it down about her ears where it belonged. But even now, perched grotesquely atop her head as it was, you could see that she was going to get away with it.
"My dear," she whispered, "his eyes! And his manner! You must be whatchamaycallit adamant. Is that the way you pronounce it? You know what I mean." "Oh, yes," replied Emma McChesney evenly, "I know what you mean." She told herself that she was justified in the righteous contempt which she felt for this sort of thing. A heart-breaker! A cheap lady-killer!
In six days you will behold Buenos Aires. Your New York, Londres, Paris bah! You shall drive with my wife and daughter through Palermo. You shall see jewels, motors, toilettes as never before. And you will visit my establishment?" He raised an emphatic forefinger. "But surely!" Emma McChesney regarded him solemnly. "I promise to do that. You may rely on me."
We crossed the Saline, and on the plains beyond was a great black patch, a herd of buffalo. A party of chosen men headed by Tom McChesney was sent after them, and never shall I forget the sight of the mad beasts charging through the water.
"Poor, poor child," said Mary Cutting, "I don't seem to recall any such show." "Well, it will look that way to me, anyway," said Emma McChesney. "I've wired Jock to meet me to-morrow, and I'm going to give the child a really sizzling little vacation. But to-night you and I will have an old-girl frolic.
'Tis a fine day, and Kaintuckee's over yonder." She picked up her skirts and sang: "First upon the heeltap, Then upon the toe." The men by the cane-brake turned and came towards us. "Ye're happy to-day, Mis' McChesney," said Riley. "Why shouldn't I be?" said Polly Ann; "we're all a-goin' to Kaintuckee." "We're a-goin' back to Cyarter's Valley," said Riley, in his blustering way.
At midnight Emma McChesney, inured as she was to sleepers and all their horrors, found her lower eight unbearable. With the bravery of desperation she groped about for her cinder-strewn belongings, donned slippers and kimono, waited until the tortured porter's footsteps had squeaked their way to the far end of the car, then sped up the dim aisle toward the back platform.
"That's what he told me afore he knew who I was. He wanted to know ef I'd fetch him thar." "Little Davy!" cried Polly Ann. The last I saw of them that day they were going off up the trace towards his mother's, Polly Ann keeping ahead of him and just out of his reach. And I was very, very happy. For Tom McChesney had come back at last, and Polly Ann was herself once more.
When, at that same message, he can smile, as with a certain grim agreeableness he says, "I'll wait," then has he reached the seventh stage, and taken the orders of the regularly ordained. Jock McChesney had learned to judge an unknown prospective by glancing at his hall rug and stenographer, which marks the fifth stage. He had learned to regard office boys with something less than white-hot hate.
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