The man swore by all the strange and wonderful gods he knew--and
they were many--that he feared to spend an hour with that effervescing
young female devotee of the Arts--lest the mountains in their wrath should
fall upon him.
But that day, when Mrs. Taine came for the last sitting, the
novelist--engaged in interesting talk with the artist--forgot.
"You are caught," cried the painter, gleefully, as the big automobile
stopped at the gate.
"I'll be damned if I am," retorted the novelist, with no profane intent
but with meaning quite literal; and, seizing a book, he bolted through the
kitchen--nearly upsetting the startled Yee Kee.
"What's matte'," inquired the Chinaman, putting his head in at the
living-room door; his almond eyes as wide as they could go, with an
expression of celestial consternation that convulsed the artist. Catching
sight of the automobile, his oriental features wrinkled into a yellow grin
of understanding; "Oh! see um come! Ha! I know. He all time go, she come.
He say no like lagtime gal. Dog Cza', him all time gone, too; him no like
lagtime--all same Miste' Laglange. Ha! I go, too," and he, in turn,
vanished.
"You are early, to-day," said Aaron King, as he escorted Mrs.
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