Part 26 (2/2)

said the Colonel, with a stately pleasure in being asked. ”My views of a civilization based upon responsible slavery would hardly be acceptable to your commercialized society.”

”Well, not as a practical thing, of course,” Fulkerson admitted. ”But as something retrospective, speculative, I believe it would make a hit.

There's so much going on now about social questions; I guess people would like to read it.”

”I do not know that my work is intended to amuse people,” said the Colonel, with some state.

”Mah goodness! Ah only wish it WAS, then,” said his daughter; and she added: ”Yes, Mr. Fulkerson, the Colonel will be very glad to submit po'tions of his woak to yo' edito'. We want to have some of the honaw.

Perhaps we can say we helped to stop yo' magazine, if we didn't help to stawt it.”

They all laughed at her boldness, and Fulkerson said: ”It 'll take a good deal more than that to stop 'Every Other Week'. The Colonel's whole book couldn't do it.” Then he looked unhappy, for Colonel Woodburn did not seem to enjoy his rea.s.suring words; but Miss Woodburn came to his rescue.

”You maght ill.u.s.trate it with the po'trait of the awthoris daughtaw, if it's too late for the covah.”

”Going to have that in every number, Miss Woodburn!” he cried.

”Oh, mah goodness!” she said, with mock humility.

Alma sat looking at her piquant head, black, unconsciously outlined against the lamp, as she sat working by the table. ”Just keep still a moment!”

She got her sketch-block and pencils, and began to draw; Fulkerson tilted himself forward and looked over her shoulder; he smiled outwardly; inwardly he was divided between admiration of Miss Woodburn's arch beauty and appreciation of the skill which reproduced it; at the same time he was trying to remember whether March had authorized him to go so far as to ask for a sight of Colonel Woodburn's ma.n.u.script. He felt that he had trenched upon March's province, and he framed one apology to the editor for bringing him the ma.n.u.script, and another to the author for bringing it back.

”Most Ah hold raght still like it was a photograph?” asked Miss Woodburn.

”Can Ah toak?”

”Talk all you want,” said Alma, squinting her eyes. ”And you needn't be either adamantine, nor yet--wooden.”

”Oh, ho' very good of you! Well, if Ah can toak--go on, Mr. Fulkerson!”

”Me talk? I can't breathe till this thing is done!” sighed Fulkerson; at that point of his mental drama the Colonel was behaving rustily about the return of his ma.n.u.script, and he felt that he was looking his last on Miss Woodburn's profile.

”Is she getting it raght?” asked the girl.

”I don't know which is which,” said Fulkerson.

”Oh, Ah hope Ah shall! Ah don't want to go round feelin' like a sheet of papah half the time.”

”You could rattle on, just the same,” suggested Alma.

”Oh, now! Jost listen to that, Mr. Fulkerson. Do you call that any way to toak to people?”

”You might know which you were by the color,” Fulkerson began, and then he broke off from the personal consideration with a business inspiration, and smacked himself on the knee, ”We could print it in color!”

Mrs. Leighton gathered up her sewing and held it with both hands in her lap, while she came round, and looked critically at the sketch and the model over her gla.s.ses. ”It's very good, Alma,” she said.

Colonel Woodburn remained restively on his side of the table. ”Of course, Mr. Fulkerson, you were jesting, sir, when you spoke of printing a sketch of my daughter.”

”Why, I don't know--If you object--?

”I do, sir--decidedly,” said the Colonel.

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