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Updated: May 22, 2025
It was an amiable bird, despite its splendid get-up, and cocked its crimson head one side to have it scratched through the bars, and held up one claw, as if to shake hands. How to get it to Mrs. Ben Wah's without the shock killing her was the problem that next presented itself. Mrs. McCutcheon solved it by doing the cage up carefully in newspaper and taking it along herself.
McCutcheon had but just resumed his seat when the newly finished rear wall of the mess-hall crashed into the room. Where had been rocks and cement was a gaping void, and a view of a garden white with snow. While we were rescuing the song writer from the débris McCutcheon regarded the fallen wall thoughtfully.
Well, perhaps we won't say. But with it you have no use for doubt he's a diplomat all the time." The young man named Billy showed no irritation. With the composure which he wore as a garment, he went on with his occupation. For a time McCutcheon bore this aloofness, then he opened a new attack. "What are you reading, my son?
For once the alarmist was right. There were no rooms in any hotel. Early in the rush John McCutcheon, William G. Shepherd, John Bass, and James Hare had taken the quarters left vacant by the Austrian Club in the Hotel Olympus. The room was vast and overlooked the principal square of the city, where every Salonikan met to talk, and the only landing-place on the quay.
Irvin Cobb, John T. McCutcheon, and others who have been on the ground also took them with a grain of salt. Curiously enough, the closer one got to the actual fight, the less bitter was the feeling between participants, the greater their respect for one another, and the less credulous their belief in the enemy's barbarity.
Blake's hands dropped to his sides, he yielded with a laugh. "Very well! Very well! Another time I'll see what you're made of. And now 'we'll exterminate the bread-stuffs, as McCutcheon would say!" And laughing, jesting content in the moment for the moment's sake they sat down to their first serious meal in the little salon.
I try to comfort myself by thinking you are happy, because you have Hope, and I have nobody, except John McCutcheon and Bass and Jimmie Hare, and they are as blue as I am, and no one can get any money. I cabled today to Wheeler for some via the State Department. I went to the Servian camp for the little orphans whose fathers have been killed, and they all knelt and kissed my hands. It was awful.
But at last the spell was broken. The diplomatic Englishman dropped his last paper, and McCutcheon stretched himself and looked once more at his watch. "Paris in an hour, Billy! Didn't those loafers in the dining-car promise us coffee somewhat about this time?" Billy looked up, unruffled of mind and body as in the first moment of the journey. "I believe they did," he said. "Tell you what!
I want you in my arms and to hear you laugh and see your eyes. I am in need of you to make a fuss over me. McCutcheon and Co. don't care whether I have cold hands or not. You do. Your ointment and gloves saved my fingers from falling off like the soldiers' did. And your "housewife" I use to put on buttons, and, your scapular and medal keep me well.
"Not at all," he said. "The disappearance of the Princess Davorska." Here Blake made a murmur of impatience. "Oh, Billy, don't!" he said. "It's so frightfully banal." McCutcheon took his cigar from his mouth. "The woman who disappeared on the eve of her marriage?" "Yes," broke in Blake, "disappeared on the eve of her marriage to elope with some poet or painter, and set society by the ears.
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