It was the room of a Spartan or a soldier. In one corner stood a wide,
canvas-covered cot; in another, a small bookcase; in another, a grim
stand of Winchesters and shotguns. An immense table, strewn with
letters, papers and documents and surmounted by a set of pigeon-holes,
occupied one side.
The centipede showed genius in concealing himself in such bare
quarters. Mrs. Maclntyre was poking a broom-handle behind the
bookcase. Octavia approached Teddy's cot. The room was just as the
manager had left it in his hurry. The Mexican maid had not yet given
it her attention. There was his big pillow with the imprint of his
head still in the centre. She thought the horrid beast might have
climbed the cot and hidden itself to bite Teddy. Centipedes were thus
cruel and vindictive toward managers.
She cautiously overturned the pillow, and then parted her lips to give
the signal for reinforcements at sight of a long, slender, dark object
lying there. But, repressing it in time, she caught up a glove, a
pearl-gray glove, flattened--it might be conceived--by many, many
months of nightly pressure beneath the pillow of the man who had
forgotten the Hammersmiths' ball. Teddy must have left so hurriedly
that morning that he had, for once, forgotten to transfer it to its
resting-place by day.
Pages:
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332