Old Grannis stood for a
moment with averted eyes, murmuring: "Oh, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry.
I--I really--I beg your pardon, really--really."
Marcus Schouler, coming down stairs from his room, saved the situation.
"Hello, people," he cried. "By damn! you've upset your basket--you have,
for a fact. Here, let's pick um up." He and Old Grannis went up and down
the flight, gathering up the fish, the lentils, and the sadly battered
cabbage. Marcus was raging over the pusillanimity of Alexander, of which
Maria had just told him.
"I'll cut him in two--with the whip," he shouted. "I will, I will, I say
I will, for a fact. He wouldn't fight, hey? I'll give um all the fight
he wants, nasty, mangy cur. If he won't fight he won't eat. I'm going
to get the butcher's bull pup and I'll put um both in a bag and shake um
up. I will, for a fact, and I guess Alec will fight. Come along, Mister
Grannis," and he took the old Englishman away.
Little Miss Baker hastened to her room and locked herself in. She was
excited and upset during all the rest of the day, and listened eagerly
for Old Grannis's return that evening. He went instantly to work binding
up "The Breeder and Sportsman," and back numbers of the "Nation.
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