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Updated: June 20, 2025
Aunt Claudia would have built hedges about Becky. She would have warned the Judge. She would, as a last resort, have challenged Dalton. But Fate, which had Becky's future well in hand, had sent Aunt Claudia to meet Truxton in New York. And she was having the time of her life. Her first letter was a revelation to her niece.
Eckfeldt brought me five medals, four of which I sent by Mr. Ross; the other shall be disposed of as you direct. The die of Truxton's medal broke after fifty-two had been struck. I suppose Truxton will feel more pain for this accident than he would to hear of the death of his friend T. Coxe.
Mary remembered a day when she and Truxton Beaufort had stood in the wide hall. "A great old bunch," Truxton had said. "If they were my ancestors I should be afraid of them." "Why, Mary?" "Oh, they'd expect so much of me." "Oh, that," Truxton said airily, "who cares what they expect?" Mr. and Mrs. Flippin came home in time for supper.
"William is unpacking the hamper now, Father. And I think Truxton has done very well. It isn't easy for the boys to find time." "Randy wrote to me every week." "Now, Mother " "Well, you did." "But I'm that kind. I have to get things off my mind. Truxton isn't. And I'll bet when Aunt Claudia does get his letters that they are worth reading." Mrs. Beaufort nodded. "They are lovely letters.
Frankly, Count, I have made the gratifying discovery that you are a damned cur." Count Vos Engo went very white. He drew his dapper figure up to its full height, swelled his Robin Redbreast coat to the bursting point, and allowed his right hand to fly to his sword. Then, as suddenly, he folded his arms and glared at Truxton. "As you say, there is another and a better time.
The next morning, after a sleepless night, Truxton King made his first determined attempt to escape. All night long he had lain there thinking of the horrid thing that was to happen on the black 26th. He counted the days, the hours, the minutes. Morning brought the 23d. Only three days more!
Resisting the impulse to argue the point, he hastily lifted his hat to the spectators and turned into the avenue without a word. "I am sorry, sir," mentioned the guardsman earnestly. Truxton turned to him with a frank smile, meant for the group at the steps. "Please tell Count Vos Engo that I am the last person in the world to disregard discipline at a time like this."
He had not seen the other man, had seen little enough but the sprawling, inert figure. It was the camp cook. And as Conniston turned upon him he saw that this man's face was flushed, that he was little better than Truxton. And if he needed further indication of the reason for the cook's plight it was not far to seek.
"The neighborhood calls her Fiddle Flippin," the Judge reminded him. "What's in a name?" said Truxton, and swung his baby high in the air. "Do you love your daddy, Fiddle-dee-dee?" "'Ess," said Fiddle, having accepted him at once on the strength of sweet chocolate, and an adorable doll. "What are they saying?" whispered Aunt Claudia, still tense in the middle of the room.
Truxton gave a joyous diary of the days little details of the towns through which he passed, of the houses where he was billeted, jokes of the men, of the food they ate, of his hope of coming home. "He seems very happy," said Mrs. Beaufort, as she finished. "He is and he isn't " "You might make yourself a little clearer, Randolph," said the Judge.
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