"Oh, there's Clover!"
A sort of dull, ponderous panting sounded in the street without, and let
all the neighbors know that "The Threshing Machine" (as Clover had
christened his elephantine toy) was waiting for someone.
Its owner came in for a stirrup cup; Mitchell was with him. Both were
togged out as if entered for the annual Paris-Bordeaux.
Burnett brought out the cut-glass jugs.
"Ye gods and little fishes! Sapristi! Sacre bleu!" he said to his friends.
"Just you wait till you see our Aunt Mary!"
"Has she got 'em all on?" Clover asked.
"Has she got 'em all on!" said Burnett. "She has got 'em all on; and how
Jack held his own in the room with her I cannot understand. I took one
look, and if mine had been a surgical case of stitches the last thread
would have bust that instant. I don't believe I dare go out with you. This
is a life and death game to Jack, and I won't risk smashing his future by
not being able to keep sober in the face of Aunt Mary."
"Oh, come on," Clover urged in his wiry voice. "You needn't look at her;
or, if you do look at her, you can look the other way right afterwards,
you know."
"I'll sit next to her," Mitchell explained. "As a sitter by Aunt Mary's
side I shone last night; and where a man has sat once, the same man can
surely sit again."
Burnett hesitated, and just then voices were heard in the hall. Jack and
Janice were convoying Aunt Mary below.
Mitchell went out into the hall.
"Well, Miss Watkins," he said, in a tone such as one would use to call
down Santos-Dumont, "I'm mighty glad to see you looking so well.
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