"
"I don't know," said the perplexed Fisbee. "If we ask her--"
"If we could sort of get it out of her diplomatically, we could telegraph
to Rouen for a good one."
"Ha!" said the other, brightening up. "You try it, Mr. Parker. I fear I
have not much skill in diplomacy, but if you----"
The compositor's mouth drooped at the corners, and he interrupted
gloomily: "But it wouldn't get here till to-morrow."
"True; it would not."
They fell into a despondent reverie, with their chins in their bosoms.
There came a cheerful voice from the next room, but to them it brought no
cheer; in their ears it sounded weak from the need of food and faint with
piteous reproach.
"Father, aren't you coming to have luncheon with me?"
"Mr. Parker, what are we to do?" whispered the old man, hoarsely.
"Is it too far to take her to Briscoes'?"
"In the rain?"
"Take her with you to Tibbs's."
"Their noon meal is long since over; and their larder is not--is not--
extensive."
"Father!" called the girl. She was stirring; they could hear her moving
about the room.
"You've got to go in and tell her," said the foreman, desperately, and
together they stumbled into the room. A small table at one end of it was
laid with a snowy cloth and there was a fragrance of tea, and, amidst
various dainties, one caught a glimpse of cold chicken and lettuce leaves.
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