I might be a living wire, as
Cousin Egbert had said, but I was keenly aware that his overalls and
hat would rather convey the impression that I was what they call in
the States a bad person from a bitter creek.
To my further relief, the Floud house was quite dark as we approached
and let ourselves in. Cousin Egbert, however, would enter the
drawing-room, flood it with light, and seat himself in an easy-chair
with his feet lifted to a sofa. He then raised his voice in a ballad
of an infant that had perished, rendering it most tearfully, the
refrain being, "Empty is the cradle, baby's gone!" Apprehensive at
this, I stole softly up the stairs and had but reached the door of my
own room when I heard Mrs. Effie below. I could fancy the chilling
gaze which she fastened upon the singer, and I heard her coldly
demand, "Where are your feet?" Whereupon the plaintive voice of Cousin
Egbert arose to me, "Just below my legs." I mean to say, he had taken
the thing as a quiz in anatomy rather than as the rebuke it was meant
to be. As I closed my door, I heard him add that he could be pushed
just so far.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Having written and posted my letter to the Honourable George the
following morning, I summoned Mr. Belknap-Jackson, conceiving it my
first duty to notify him and Mrs.
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