Read statistics and find out."
"Yes, sir. Will you have your lunch up now, sir?"
"I'll get it over and then you can order the car for me."
"But the rain--?"
"I like rain. I'm not sugar or salt."
Bronson, much perturbed, called up Jean. "The General's going out."
"Oh, but he mustn't, Bronson."
"I can't say 'mustn't' to him, Miss," Bronson reported dismally.
"You'd better see what you can do--"
But when Jean arrived, the General was gone!
"We'll drive out through the country," the old man had told his
chauffeur, and had settled back among his cushions, his cane by his
side, his foot up on the opposite seat to relieve him of the weight.
And it was as he rode that he began to have a strange feeling about
that foot which no longer walked or bore him lightly.
How he had marched in those bygone days! He remembered the first time
he had tried to keep step with his fellows. The tune had been Yankee
Doodle--with a fife and drum--and he was a raw young recruit in his
queer blue uniform and visored cap--.
And how eager his feet had been, how strongly they had borne him,
spurning the dust of the road--as they would bear him no more--.
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