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Updated: June 22, 2025
If his neck was broke the whole of Wall Street would go to pot." "Wall Street? What in the world has Lute got to do with Wall Street?" "Lute! Oh, I see! Yes, Lute's been doing considerable talking, but it ain't his neck I mean. Say, Ros, what did you do to him, anyway? You stirred him up some, judging by what he said to me." "Who said? What?" "Why, Colton. He was in here yesterday.
He must see you, that's all there was to it. Say, Ros, what did you and Phin Cahoon and the Colton girl do yesterday?" "Oh, we put through one of Mr. Colton's little trades for him, that's all." "That's all, hey! Well, whatever 'twas, he and I owe you a vote of thanks. He began to get better the minute he heard it.
"I thought you meant lately. Well, I'm rakin' it, ain't I? Say, Ros," he added, eagerly, "did you go to the post-office when you was uptown? Was there a letter there for you?" "What makes you think there was?" "Asa Peters' boy, the bow-legged one, told me. The chauffeur, the feller that pilots the automobiles, asked him where the post-office was and he see the address on the envelope.
And that ain't the worst of it; I haven't got anybody yet to take his place. I'll have to be cashier and bookkeeper too for a spell. There's applicants enough; but they don't suit. Guess likely you'll have to help me out, after all, Ros. The job is yours if you say the word." He laughed as he said it. Even to him the idea of my working was a joke. But the joke did not seem funny to me, just then.
Let me close this chapter by a narrative of fact, derived from the late Lord de Ros, who was an eye-witness of the events which he narrated. He served for a short time as an officer in the English Army, and after quitting the service he made himself notorious by trying to organize a political riot in London, for which he was tried and acquitted.
"If there is any trouble, George," I said, earnestly; "if you're in any difficulty, personally, I shall be very glad to help you, if I can. I mean that." For a moment I thought he hesitated. Then he shook his head. "I know you mean it, Ros," he answered. "I'm much obliged to you, too. But there's nothing to help me with. I'm just nervous and tired, that's all."
"Maybe so. But do you suppose he did it on his own hook? HE couldn't hire you unless the directors said so and the directors don't say anything, the majority of 'em, unless I say it first. I put the notion in George's head. He didn't know it, but I did. And I put it in the directors' heads, too. Ros Paine, I always liked you, though I did use to think you was a gentleman loafer.
"Come back here this minute! Lute, come back!" Lute came, looking shamefaced and awkward. "Where were you going?" I demanded. "I I was cal'latin' to go and tell Dorindy," he faltered. "You'll tell nobody. Nobody, do you hear! I'll tell Dorinda myself, when it is necessary. What were you doing here? spying on me in that fashion." "I I wan't spyin', Ros. Honest truth, I wan't.
I may mention one artistic dinner amongst our early efforts at housekeeping, which nearly ended with a catastrophe. Millais and Dicky Doyle were of the party; music was represented by Joachim, Piatti, and Halle. The late Lord and Lady de Ros were also of the number.
"Set down," ordered Dorinda, who was taking a clam pie from the oven. She merely nodded when I came in. Dorinda often spoke in meeting against "sinful pride"; yet she had her share of pride, sinful or not. She would not ask questions or deign to appear excited, not she. "But Dorinda," cried her husband, "it's Ros. Don't you see?" "You set down, Lute Rogers.
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