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Page 85
In Mr. Peters' case there had been distinct improvement already.
Miracles do not happen nowadays, and it was too much to expect
one who had maltreated his body so consistently for so many years
to become whole in a day; but to an optimist like Ashe signs were
not wanting that in due season Mr. Peters would rise on
stepping-stones of his dead self to higher things, and though
never soaring into the class that devours lobster a la Newburg
and smiles after it, might yet prove himself a devil of a fellow
among the mutton chops.
"You're a wonder!" said Mr. Peters. "You're fresh, and you have
no respect for your elders and betters; but you deliver the
goods. That's the point. Why, I'm beginning to feel great! Say,
do you know I felt a new muscle in the small of my back this
morning? They are coming out on me like a rash."
"That's the Larsen Exercises. They develop the whole body."
"Well, you're a pretty good advertisement for them if they need
one. What were you before you came to me--a prize-fighter?"
"That's the question everybody I have met since I arrived here
has asked me. I believe it made the butler think I was some sort
of crook when I couldn't answer it. I used to write stories--
detective stories."
"What you ought to be doing is running a place over here in
England like Muldoon has back home. But you will be able to write
one more story out of this business here, if you want to. When
are you going to have another try for my scarab?"
"To-night."
"To-night? How about Baxter?"
"I shall have to risk Baxter."
Mr. Peters hesitated. He had fallen out of the habit of being
magnanimous during the past few years, for dyspepsia brooks no
divided allegiance and magnanimity has to take a back seat when
it has its grip on you.
"See here," he said awkwardly; "I've been thinking this over
lately--and what's the use? It's a queer thing; and if anybody
had told me a week ago that I should be saying it I wouldn't have
believed him; but I am beginning to like you. I don't want to get
you into trouble. Let the old scarab go. What's a scarab anyway?
Forget about it and stick on here as my private Muldoon. If it's
the five thousand that's worrying you, forget that too. I'll give
it to you as your fee."
Ashe was astounded. That it could really be his peppery employer
who spoke was almost unbelievable. Ashe's was a friendly nature
and he could never be long associated with anyone without trying
to establish pleasant relations; but he had resigned himself in
the present case to perpetual warfare.
He was touched; and if he had ever contemplated abandoning his
venture, this, he felt, would have spurred him on to see it
through. This sudden revelation of the human in Mr. Peters was
like a trumpet call.
"I wouldn't think of it," he said. "It's great of you to suggest
such a thing; but I know just how you feel about the thing, and
I'm going to get it for you if I have to wring Baxter's neck.
Probably Baxter will have given up waiting as a bad job by now if
he has been watching all this while. We've given him ten nights
to cool off. I expect he is in bed, dreaming pleasant dreams.
It's nearly two o'clock. I'll wait another ten minutes and then
go down." He picked up the cookbook. "Lie back and make yourself
comfortable, and I'll read you to sleep first."
"You're a good boy," said Mr. Peters drowsily.
"Are you ready? 'Pork Tenderloin Larded. Half pound fat pork--'"
A faint smile curved Mr. Peters' lips. His eyes were closed and
he breathed softly. Ashe went on in a low voice: "'four large
pork tenderloins, one cupful cracker crumbs, one cupful boiling
water, two tablespoonfuls butter, one teaspoonful salt, half
teaspoonful pepper, one teaspoonful poultry seasoning.'"
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