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Indeed, it was only too clear that his Celtic interests had been suddenly engrossed by matters much nearer his heart than the prospect, as he saw the thing, of spanking a naughty child. "He was off by half-past eight, sir," the steward, McTosh, told Varney at breakfast. "He said to tell you to give yourself no uneasiness, sir; that he was only going to Mr.
Varney, whose want of appetite pained McTosh, was a conversational tower of strength. But his talk was false-faced talk, his mirth was lying mirth, his smile a painted smile. Uncle Elbert's daughter sat at his left, as befitted a guest of honor.
The room and the table were the objects of new compliments, given in farewell. "Who would have dreamed," said Mary, looking back from the door at her father's perfectly appointed room, "that yachts were as nice as this?" "And to think," said Mrs. Marne, "that it was all done by a Mere Man." McTosh, the mere man in question, blushed violently behind his deft hand.
At two o'clock Varney went down to a solitary luncheon. At quarter past, followed by the reproachful gaze of McTosh, he came out again. In the pit of his stomach reposed a great emptiness, but it was not hunger. He felt restless, high-strung, all made of nerves.
"Do you remember that night at the club my saying to you, as a great inducement: 'Suppose the New York papers get on to this'?" Peter nodded. Varney handed him the yellow slips; then he arose and pushed the service button. "McTosh," he said, "send to town at once and get me copies of the Sun, the Times, the Daily and the Herald all the New York papers.
McTosh, whose eye was everywhere, promptly lowered a shade two inches the one blunder he made that day. "Isn't it?" "That would depend altogether on the person." "Me." "I do think so, decidedly." "Really you and my mother would be very congenial." "McTosh, the bread," said Peter's cool voice. Mrs.
From Charlie Hammerton came a quart of magnificent Scotch, followed on the second day by a pile of clippings from the Gazette's exchanges which must have gratified the injured man extremely if only he had been able to read them. By the hand of sad-faced McTosh came a hideous floral piece, in fact, a red, white, and blue star, bearing the label "From the sorrowing crew of the Cypriani." Mrs.
But McTosh, familiar old family retainer, slipped nearer at the first opportunity and whispered, in just that eager tone with which he pressed a side-dish upon one's notice: "Can't I give you a little help, sir?" "Keep away, steward," said Varney, between clenched teeth, "or you'll get hurt." Saying which, he received a savage blow on the point of the chin and struck the deck with a thud.
Maginnis on the street, and been ordered to take back the parcel to Mr. Varney. "All right, McTosh," said Varney. He broke the string with some curiosity and pulled off the wrappers. Within was nothing but a copy of a current literary monthly. A present of a magazine from Peter! This was a delicate apology for his remissness, indeed.
He protested vigorously, addressing himself to Bicknell and ignoring the ex-district attorney as if he were not. He, McTosh, was willing to surrender the office on an official order in writing over the chief clerk's signature. But did Bicknell fully understand what it might mean in loss of life and property to put a new man on the wires at a moment's notice?
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