Part 55 (1/2)

The little doctor felt a faintness run through his veins, and a thrill of anger follow it. The poor man could not imagine a love affair that did not include Clotilde Nancanou.

”Whom have you married?”

”De pritties' gal in de citty.”

The questioner controlled himself.

”M-hum,” he responded, with a contraction of the eyes.

Raoul waited an instant for some kindlier comment, and finding the hope vain, suddenly a.s.sumed a look of delighted admiration.

”Hi, yi, yi! Doctah, 'ow you har lookingue fine.”

The true look of the doctor was that he had not much longer to live. A smile of bitter humor pa.s.sed over his face, and he looked for a near seat, saying:

”How's Frowenfeld?”

Raoul struck an ecstatic att.i.tude and stretched forth his hand as if the doctor could not fail to grasp it. The invalid's heart sank like lead.

”Frowenfeld has got her,” he thought.

”Well?” said he with a frown of impatience and restraint; and Raoul cried:

”I sole my pigshoe!”

The doctor could not help but laugh.

”Shades of the masters!”

”No; 'Louizyanna rif-using to hantre de h-Union.'”

The doctor stood corrected.

The two walked across the deck, following the shadow of the swinging sail. The doctor lay down in a low-swung hammock, and Raoul sat upon the deck _a la Turque_.

”Come, come, Raoul, tell me, what is the news?”

”News? Oh, I donno. You 'eard concernin' the dool?”

”You don't mean to say--”

”Yesseh!”

”Agricola and Sylvestre?”

”W'at de dev'! No! Burr an' 'Ammiltong; in Noo-Juzzy-las-June. Collonnel Burr, 'e--”

”Oh, fudge! yes. How is Frowenfeld?”

”'E's well. Guess 'ow much I sole my pigshoe.”