He remembered to have placed his knotted bag upon the veranda, and,
slipping off his stiff boots slowly and softly, slid along against the
wall of the house, looking carefully on the floor, and yet preserving
a studied negligence of demeanor, with one hand in his pocket, and his
small mouth contracted into a singularly soothing and almost voiceless
whistle--Richelieu's own peculiar accomplishment. But no stone appeared.
Like most of his genus he was superstitious, and repeated to himself the
cabalistic formula: "Losin's seekin's, findin's keepin's"--presumed
to be of great efficacy in such cases--with religious fervor. He had
laboriously reached the end of the veranda when he noticed the open
window of Louise's room, and stopped as a perfunctory duty to look in.
And then Richelieu Sharpe stood for an instant utterly confounded and
aghast at this crowning proof of the absolute infamy and sickening
enormity of Man.
There was HIS stone--HIS, RICHELIEU'S, OWN SPECIMEN, carefully gathered
by himself and none other--and now stolen, abstracted, "skyugled,"
"smouged," "hooked" by this "rotten, skunkified, long-legged,
splay-footed, hoss-laughin', nigger-toothed, or'nary despot" And,
worse than all, actually made to do infamous duty as a "love token"--a
"candy-gift!"--a "philanderin' box" to HIS, Richelieu's, girl--for
Louise belonged to that innocent and vague outside seraglio of
Richelieu's boyish dreams--and put atop of a letter to her! and
Providence permitted such an outrage! "Wot was he, Richelieu, sent to
school for, and organized wickedness in the shape of gorilla Injins like
this allowed to ride high horses rampant over Californey!" He looked
at the heavens in mute appeal.
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