The white card caught his eye. He read its angular
scrawl.
"I wish never to see you again. Never! Never! Never!"
A sulphur-yellow inquisitor, of a more insinuating manner than the
former participant in their conversation, who had been examining
the message on his own account, flew to the top of the cliff.
"Qu'est-ce qu'elle dit? Qu'est-ce qu'elle dit?" he demanded.
For the first time in his adult life the beetle man threw a stone
at a bird.
VIII
LOS YANKIS
Luncheon on the day following the kiskadee bird's narrow squeak
for his life was a dreary affair for Mr. Fitzhugh Carroll.
Business had called Mr. Brewster away. This deprivation the
Southerner would have borne with equanimity. But Miss Brewster had
also absented herself, which was rather too much for the devoted,
but apprehensive, lover. Thus, ample time was given him to
consider how ill his suit was prospering. The longer he stayed,
the less he saw of Miss Polly. That she was kinder and more
gentle, less given to teasing him than of yore, was poor
compensation. He was shrewd enough to draw no good augury from
that.
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