Winthrop and that
little, sawed-off, witty daughter of hers."
"Patty!"
"Well, she is sawed-off and witty."
"What did I say?" asked Warrington, blushing. He had forgotten the
incident.
"Mrs. Winthrop asked you to make her daughter an epigram, and you
replied that Heaven had already done that."
"By the way," said Warrington, when the laughter subsided, "I
understand that my old dog has been running away from home lately. I
hope he doesn't bother you."
"Bother, indeed! I just love him," cried Patty. "He's such a lovable
animal. We have such good times on our morning rides. We had trouble
last week, though. A white bulldog sprang at him. Jove was so tired
that he would have been whipped had I not dismounted and beaten the
white dog off. Oh, Jove was perfectly willing to contest the right of
way. And when it was all over, who should come along but Mr. McQuade,
the politician. It was his dog. And he hadn't even the grace to make
an apology for his dog's ill manners."
"May I not ride with you to-morrow morning?" he asked. He had intended
to leave Herculaneum at noon; but there were many later trains.
Pages:
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123