And I went to
the hospital this morning before I left. They wouldn't let me see him
again, but they told me all about him, and he's better; and I got Tom to
go to the jail--he was so mystified, he doesn't know what I wanted it for
--and he saw some of those beasts, and I can do a column of description
besides an editorial about them, and I will be fierce enough to suit
Carlow, you may believe that. And I've been talking to Senator Burns--that
is, listening to Senator Burns, which is much stupider--and I think I can
do an article on national politics. I'm not very well up on local issues
yet, but I--" She broke off suddenly. "There! I think we can get out
to-morrow's number without any trouble. By the time you get back from the
hotel, father, I'll have half my stuff written--'written up,' I mean. Take
your big umbrella and go, dear, and please ask at the express office if my
typewriter has come."
She laughed again with sheer delight, like a child, and ran to the corner
and got the cotton umbrella and placed it in the old man's hand. As he
reached the door, she called after him: "Wait!" and went to him and knelt
before him, and, with the humblest, proudest grace in the world, turned up
his trousers to keep them from the mud. Ross Schofield had never
considered Mr. Fisbee a particularly sacred sort of person, but he did
from that moment.
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