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Updated: May 1, 2025
Jimmie fell from the tonneau. In concealing his sense of triumph, he was not entirely successful. "I got him!" he cried. "I didn't make no mistake about this one!" "What one?" demanded Van Vorst. Jimmie pointed dramatically at his prisoner. With an anxious expression the stranger was tenderly fingering the back of his head. He seemed to wish to assure himself that it was still there.
Nothing in his reign seems to have excited him so much. Not only did he have it publicly burnt in St. No heretic, he said, ever better deserved to be burnt, but that he would leave to their Christian wisdom. "Such a Disquisition deserved the punishment of the Inquisition." If Vorst remained, no English youths should repair to "so infected a place" as the University of Leyden.
It was time that he was married, anyway, and he was fully aware that if Freddie Drummond didn't get married, Bill Totts assuredly would, and the complications were too awful to contemplate. And so, enters Catherine Van Vorst. She was a college woman herself, and her father, the one wealthy member of the faculty, was the head of the Philosophy Department as well.
'Ere's the children; now sit right down wth hus, and velcome. Since we're neighbors we'll be neighborly and friendly like; and before yer know hit, yer'll be snug and comfortable hin your hown rooms, and yer can be jist as 'appy bin 'em has hever yer vas him yer life. Bein' poor and 'aving to vork hain't the vorst troubles in the vorld."
The two men in the front seat were white with dust; their faces, masked by automobile glasses, were indistinguishable. As though preparing for an immediate exit, the car swung in a circle until its nose pointed down the driveway up which it had just come. Raising his silk mask the one beside the driver shouted at Judge Van Vorst. His throat was parched, his voice was hoarse and hot with anger.
Freddie Drummond sat in the auto, quite composed, alongside Catherine Van Vorst; but looking out of Freddie Drummond's eyes was Bill Totts, and somewhere behind those eyes, battling for the control of their mutual body, were Freddie Drummond the sane and conservative sociologist, and Bill Totts, the class-conscious and bellicose union working man.
"By Chiminy, I am, Captain; der skin vos rubbed off me by der saddle," he answered, touching the afflicted part tenderly. "It vos der rackin' gait mit der horse vot did it. He is der vorst horse dot ever I ride." "Well, get as comfortable as you can, and I'll try to be more thoughtful in the future. Bungay, what has become of Maria?" The little man's eyes suddenly filled with tears.
The driver shrieked at his companion. "Then, he's doubled back," he cried. "He's gone to New Haven." He stooped and threw in the clutch. The car lurched forward. A cold terror swept young Van Vorst. "What do you want with him?" he called. "Who are you?" Over one shoulder the masked face glared at him. Above the roar of the car the words of the driver were flung back.
I been stalking him for a week. He's a spy!" When Jimmie thrust the map before his face, Van Vorst had glanced at it. Then he regarded it more closely. As he raised his eyes they showed that he was puzzled. But he greeted the prisoner politely. "I'm extremely sorry you've been annoyed," he said. "I'm only glad it's no worse. He might have shot you.
The stranger walked directly to the mantelpiece and put his finger on a gold cup. "I saw your mare win that at Belmont Park," he said. "She must have been a great loss to you?" "She was," said Van Vorst. "The week before she broke her back, I refused three thousand for her. Will you have a cigarette?" The stranger waved aside the cigarettes.
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