The Miller press. [volume] (Miller, S.D.) 190?-current, 1909-09-30

was a little difficulty about the fly
wheeler at least we thought there
was-but It was simply a question of
oil. 1t will run perfectly sweetly and
truly. 1t was just as well, Marriott,
however, to see that our engines were
in perfect order"
His voice was half drowned by the
rafting explosions Of the other car,
though Marriott heard everything
that he said quite distinctly.
Grant turned round. by Jove!"
he said. There's another car of a
make almost exactly like our own. l
wonder if it is a Dietrich!"
AS Grant spoke, his right hand was
upon Basil Marriott's shoulder. AS
he finished speaking, Basil felt his
right shoulder pressed as if in a vice
of steel.
What the deuce is the matter?" he
said, and then his question was
answered.
A little, tiny, piping voice, full Of
eagerness and anxiety, shivered out
with eager intentness. 1t penetrated
through the rattle of the motor, and
anne to his ears, u~nmistakable, clear,
and certain.
ooh, Uncle Michael!" said the little
voice. Uncle Michael! l want
mamma! l want"
What happened after that was very
swift and adroit.
The child was caught up by the tall
man with the blond moustache and
carried into the car. The door was
slammed, and within the compass of
a minute the whole drama upon the
pavement in front of the hotel was
completed. The chauffeur suddenly
threw the engines into gear, and the
car rushed off with a sudden explo-
sion of noise. 1t swerved round past
the front OF the dome, and disappeared
along the narrow traffic-ridden street
which leads to the great highway upon
the right bank of the Rhine.
Marriott was accustomed to use
words which a kindly Interpretation
might call expressive. Marriott was
a sailor, and the salt wind blows
away the ~gentlemanly oath as if it
had not been uttered. On shore Cap
tain Marriott was a politely-spoken
person enough. At the same time,
during the whole of his association
with Michael Grant he had realized
that the great athlete was a real
purist in speech. He had never heard
Michael Grant say anything that he
might not have said in the drawing
room of his own mother.
At this moment Basil received not
exactly a shock because he was
hardened to strange events, but at
any rate an insight into his friends
powers Of expression.
1t is not necessary to chronicle here
exactly what Michael Grant said, but
it made the sailor urn to him in
mingled surprise and admiration, and
even the uniformed porter upon the
steps of the hotel turned his head
away and smiled quietly to himself.
What is it?" Basil said. What is
it all about? Why did that little girl
call out to you?"
Grant suddenly raised his arms in
to the air and brought them down
with a gesture of despair, which to
the sailor seemed ~curiously theatrical
and unreal. Not once, but twice the
famous young man did this, but then
he turned to his companion a face
which had suddenly become SO grey
and haggard that Basil started back
in alarm.
The classical Grecian face vas dis,
torted into a mask of tragedy. Little
beads Of perspiration stood out all
over it, like seed pearls. The mouth
moved, the eyes protruded, d~istended.
The arms went up and down like
fails.
(To be continued.)