"And say, Barrow, this fellow's an earl--take off your hat, pull down your vest!""Yes, he's come off and forgot his crown, that he wears Sundays.He's cabled over to his pappy to send it.""You step out and get that cablegram, Barrow; his majesty's a little lame to-day.""Oh stop," cried Barrow; "give the man a chance." He turned, and said with some severity, "Tracy, what's the matter with you? What kind of foolishness is this you've been talking.You ought to have more sense.""I've not been talking foolishness; and if you'll go to the telegraph office--""Oh; don't talk so.I'm your friend in trouble and out of it, before your face and behind your back, for anything in reason; but you've lost your head, you see, and this moonshine about a cablegram--""I'll go there and ask for it!"
"Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Brady.Here, I'll give you a Written order for it.Fly, now, and fetch it.We'll soon see!"Brady flew.Immediately the sort of quiet began to steal over the crowd which means dawning doubt, misgiving; and might be translated into the words, "Maybe he is expecting a cablegram--maybe he has got a father somewhere--maybe we've been just a little too fresh, just a shade too 'previous'!"Loud talk ceased; then the mutterings and low murmurings and whisperings died out.The crowd began to crumble apart.By ones and twos the fragments drifted to the breakfast table.Barrow tried to bring Tracy in; but he said:
"Not yet, Barrow-presently."
Mrs.Marsh and Hattie tried, offering gentle and kindly persuasions; but he said;"I would rather wait-till he comes."
Even old Marsh began to have suspicions that maybe he had been a trifle too "brash," as he called it in the privacy of his soul, and he pulled himself together and started toward Tracy with invitation in his eyes;but Tracy warned him off with a gesture which was quite positive and eloquent.Then followed the stillest quarter of an hour which had ever been known in that house at that time of day.It was so still, and so solemn withal, that when somebody's cup slipped from his fingers and landed in his plate the shock made people start, and the sharp sound seemed as indecorous there and as out of place as if a coffin and mourners were imminent and being waited for.And at last when Brady's feet came clattering down the stairs the sacrilege seemed unbearable.
Everybody rose softly and turned toward the door, where stood Tracy;then with a common impulse, moved a step or two in that direction, and stopped.While they gazed, young Brady arrived, panting, and put into Tracy's hand,--sure enough--an envelope.Tracy fastened a bland victorious eye upon the gazers, and kept it there till one by one they dropped their eyes, vanquished and embarrassed.Then he tore open the telegram and glanced at its message.The yellow paper fell from his fingers and fluttered to the floor, and his face turned white.There was nothing there but one word--"Thanks."
