Christmas to me, sir. And if Missis McGillicuddy holds a reg'lar court
of inquiry on me, as she does seven nights in the week, I'm a' goin' to
stand on my rights and swear by the Jumpin' Moses I'll never set foot
again in that damned, infernal, hellish buggy, sir,--excuse me, sir."




CHAPTER III

THE HEART OF A MAID

When the wild and throbbing excitement of the evening was over, the
fear, the horror, the joy, the triumph, the exulting exhilaration,
Broussard, smoking his last cigar at one o'clock in the morning, felt a
little ashamed of himself. After all, Anita was little more than a
child, being but seventeen, and it was hardly fair to her that he
should try to chain her young feet and blindfold her young eyes before
she had seen the great moving picture of the world. Broussard did not
in the least remember what he said to Anita when he was putting her cap
on her head, nor even the words in which she had replied; he only knew
that they were burning words that came from the heart and spoke through
the eyes as well as the tongue. But a man was not always master of
himself. Broussard had a good many plausible excuses to urge for
himself, and was always a good barker for Victor Broussard, and Anita
was so charming, she had so much more sense than the average
seventeen-year-old fledgling, she was so obviously more developed
mentally and emotionally for her age, she had grown up in an atmosphere
of tenderness and happiness, for everybody knew that the Colonel and
Mrs. Fortescue were still like lovers, after twenty years of married