"Yas'm, dat's what I 'lowed. Dat's what I tole Carline--leastwise
dat's what I'st gwine tell her. Ise Cunnel Carsey's coachman."
Mrs. Sequin eyed him coldly through a silver lorgnette. "Didn't they
understand that I was coming on the eleven train?"
"Yes'm, dat's right. But you allays has to 'low fer dem narrow gauges.
Dey has to run slow to keep from fallin' offen de track. Dat must have
been de ten o'clock train you come on."
"Not at all, I left the city at ten minutes of eleven."
"Yas'm, dat was de ten train den. De leben train don't start 'til long
about noon."
"Preposterous!" said Mrs. Sequin, sweeping to her feet. "Take me to
the carriage. Fanchonette! Where are you?"
Uncle Jimpson apologetically dragged forward his left foot, upon the
trouser hem of which the small dog had fastened her sharp little
teeth.
"Frightfully obstinate little beast," said Mrs. Sequin, "she won't let
go until she gets ready. You needn't be afraid of her biting you. She
couldn't be induced to bite a colored person."
Uncle Jimpson, carrying the dog along on his foot, led the way, while
Mrs. Sequin, with the cautious tread of a stout person used to the
treacheries of oriental rugs on hardwood floors, followed.
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