When a woman began to bore
him, or he found himself liking her beyond the limit
of his philosophy, he invariably found relief in
change of scene. Sometimes it was a sick aunt or a
persistent lawyer or an engagement nearly forgotten
and which must be kept at all hazards. He never,
however, left his inamorata in either tears or anger.
"Now, don't be cross, dear," he cried, patting her
shoulder with his fingers. "You know I don't want
to leave you. I shall be perfectly wretched while
I'm gone, but there's no help for it. Morton's such
a fussy old fellow--always wanting to do a lot of
things that can, perhaps, wait just as well as not.
Hauled me down from Walnut Hill half a dozen
times once, and after all the fellow wouldn't sell.
But this time it's important and I must go. Bones,"
and he lifted his finger to the boy, "tell John I
want the light wagon. I'll take the 11.12 to Philadelphia."
The tiger advanced ten steps and stood at attention,
his finger at his eyebrow. Lucy turned her face
toward the boy. "No, Bones, you'll do nothing of
the kind. You tell John to harness the grays to the
drag. I'll go to the station with Mr. Feilding."
Max shrugged his shoulders.
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