Where is he now? Have you taken over Parnassus?"
"Just at present," I said, "Mr. Mifflin is in the jail at Port Vigor."
The ladies gave little cries of astonishment, and the
gentleman himself (I had sized him up as a school commissioner
or something of that sort) seemed not less surprised.
"In jail!" he said. "What on earth for? Has he sandbagged
somebody for reading Nick Carter and Bertha M. Clay? That's
about the only crime he'd be likely to commit."
"He's supposed to have cozened me out of four hundred
dollars," I said, "and my brother has had him locked up. But
as a matter of fact he wouldn't swindle a hen out of a
new-laid egg. I bought Parnassus of my own free will. I'm on
my way to Port Vigor now to get him out. Then I'm going to
ask him to marry me--if he will. It's not leap year, either"}
He looked at me, his thin, lined face working with
friendliness. He was a fine-looking man--short, gray hair
brushed away from a broad, brown forehead. I noticed his
rich, dark suit and the spotless collar. This was a man of
breeding, evidently.
"Well, Madam," he said, "any friend of the Professor is a
friend of ours." (His wife and the girls chimed in with
assent.
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