Fond
mothers in the crowd of hurrying travellers found time to look upon him
and smile as if to say, "What a nice man!" He could almost hear them
saying it. Which, no doubt, accounted for the intense ruddiness of his
cheeks.
"Do you ever spank her?" he demanded once of Mrs. Medcroft, after
Tootles had brought tears to his eyes with a potent attack upon his
nose. She caught the light of danger in his grey eyes and hastily
snatched the offending Tootles from his arms.
Miss Fowler kept him constantly at work with his eyeglass and his
English, neither of which he was managing well enough to please her
critical estimate. In fact, he laboured all day with the persistence, if
not the sullenness, of a hard-driven slave. He did not have time to
become tired. There was always something new to be done or learned or
unlearned: his day was full to overflowing. He was a man of family!
The wife of his bosom was tranquillity itself. She was enjoying herself.
When not amusing herself by watching Brock's misfortunes, she was
napping or reading or sending out for cool drinks. With all the
selfishness of a dutiful wife, she was content to shift responsibilities
upon that ever convenient and useful creature--a detached sister.
Brock sent telegrams for her from cities along the way,--Ulm, Munich,
Salzburg, and others,--all meant for the real Roxbury in London, but
sent to a fictitious being in Great Russell Street, the same having been
agreed upon by at least two of the conspirators.
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