"What would I want to tell a thing like that for?" he demanded
indignantly, as if an accusation had been made against him. But I saw
his eyes glitter with an evil light.
An hour later I chanced to be with him in our detached hut, when the
Mixer entered.
"What happened?" she demanded.
"What do you reckon happened?" returned Cousin Egbert. "They get to
talking about Lord Ivy Craddles, or some guy, and before we know it
Mr. Belknap Hyphen Jackson is apologizing to Bill here."
"No?" bellowed the Mixer.
"Sure did he!" affirmed Cousin Egbert.
Here they grasped each other's arms and did a rude native dance about
the room, nor did they desist when I sought to explain that the name
was not at all Ivy Craddles.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Now once more it seemed that for a time I might lead a sanely ordered
existence. Not for long did I hope it. I think I had become resigned
to the unending series of shocks that seemed to compose the daily life
in North America. Few had been my peaceful hours since that fatal
evening in Paris. And the shocks had become increasingly violent. When
I tried to picture what the next might be I found myself shuddering.
For the present, like a stag that has eluded the hounds but hears
their distant baying, I lay panting in momentary security, gathering
breath for some new course.
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