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"That noble young man, George Lattaker, who, at the risk of his life, saved my high-born master from the assassin." George sat down suddenly. "I don't understand," he said feebly. "We were wrong, Mr. Sturgis," went on the Count. "We leaped to the conclusion was it not so? that the owner of the hat you found was also the assailant of my high-born master. We were wrong.
Sturgis, drawing her twinkling eyes away from them and turning upon Ben Broderick, who had arrived just too late, with as much malice in her smile as she knew how to put into it, remarked meaningly, "A little slow, Mr. Broderick! You got to keep awake when there's a man like Buck around."
He was not present at the wedding, being unavoidably detained by a medal tournament; but, if you turn up the files and look at the list of presents, which were both numerous and costly, you will see somewhere in the middle of the column, the words: STURGIS, J. MORTIMER. Two dozen Silver King Golf-balls and one patent Sturgis Aluminium Self-Adjusting, Self-Compensating Putting-Cleek.
But Sturgis swore a mighty oath that he would never despatch a letter uninspected by the Commandante, that he would make no excursions into the heart of the country, that he would neither engage in traffic nor interfere in politics.
Pett used to employ as a physical instructor a man named Jerry Mitchell. Yesterday I dismissed him for reasons it is not necessary to go into. To-day just as you arrived in fact the man who calls himself Jimmy Crocker was begging me to allow Mitchell to return to the house and resume his work here. Does that not strike you as suspicious, Mr. Sturgis?"
Sturgis said. "Come and sit here with me, my Kirk." Felicia blew out the candles that had graced the supper-table, drew the curtains across the windows where night looked in, and came back to sit on the hearth at her mother's feet. The contented silence about the fire was presently broken by a tapping at the outer door, and Ken rose to admit the Maestro and Martin.
Here was poor old George, as well-meaning a fellow as ever stepped, getting swatted all over the ring by the hand of Fate. Why? That's what I asked myself. Just Life, don't you know. That's all there was about it. It was close on six o'clock when our third visitor of the day arrived. We were sitting on the afterdeck in the cool of the evening old Marshall, Denman Sturgis, Mrs.
The sole stipulation, of course, which he made when dreaming his daydreams was that the future Mrs. Sturgis must be a golfer. I can still recall the horror in his face when one girl, admirable in other respects, said that she had never heard of Harry Vardon, and didn't he mean Dolly Vardon? She has since proved an excellent wife and mother, but Mortimer Sturgis never spoke to her again.
This cross-fire cleared that portion of the field; McCulloch's whole line gave way and retired out of view. It was now for the first time safe for Major Sturgis, who had assumed command on the death of Lyon, to retreat. Sturgis withdrew in order and fell back to Springfield unmolested. The entire national loss, according to the official report, was 223 killed, 721 wounded, and 292 missing.
Marching by way of New Market, I reached Dandridge on the 17th, and here on my arrival met General Sturgis, then commanding our cavalry. He was on the eve of setting out to, "whip the enemy's cavalry," as he said, and wanted me to go along and see him do it.
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