This pretty
drawing-room was one of the results, and it only wanted a certain
number of cheques from the Honourable Frederic to make the excellence
of the arrangement complete.
Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys took a leisurely survey of the room while her
husband awaited information.
"The pote is hooked," she said at last, "an' so's Master Sam."
"The poet is our first card," replied her husband, searching his
pocket and producing a letter. "The _Maryland_ should be here
to-morrow or next day. Upon my word, Nellie, I don't want to ask
questions, but you've done exceedingly well."
"Better than well, me dear. I've found a _place_--an illigant hidin'
in an owld schooner up the river."
"Safe?"
"As a church. I'll take yez to't to-morra. Master Sam tells me
sorra a sowl goes nigh ut. He tuk me to see ut. I say, me darlint,
I'd be lettin' that young fool down aisier than the pote. He's a
poor little snob, but he's more like a man than Moggridge."
"He's a bad ass, is Moggridge," assented the Honourable Frederic.
"Come, Nellie, we've a day's work before us, remember."
A friend of mine, the son of steady-going Nihilist parents, and
therefore an authority, assures me that the Honourable Frederic
cannot have been a conspirator for the simple reason that he shaved
his chin regularly.
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