"He's--he's got a sore throat."
"Let me smell that stuff, Maggie," said Miss Jennie sternly. One
sniff was sufficient. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Margaret
Slattery, leading a young man into temptation like this. You may
be starting him on the road to perdition. It is just such things
as this that--"
"Oh, gosh!" exclaimed Margaret, recovering herself. "Don't you go
thinking he's as good as all that. From what he was telling me at
breakfast the other day, he used to make the round trip to purgatory
every night or so,--only he said it was paradise. Keep your old
brandy. He wouldn't like it anyway. Not him! He says he's swallered
enough champagne to float the whole American Navy."
"The very idea!" exclaimed Miss Jennie. "Go to your room, Maggie.
It's bad enough for you to be stealing but when you make it worse
by lying, I--"
"I'm quitting you in the morning," said Margaret, her Irish up.
"It won't be the first time," said Miss Jennie, imperturbably.
Courtney sat for a long time before the booming little stove. He
forgot Margaret Slattery and her mission.
"I guess it took her off her feet," he reflected aloud. "That's
the way with some of them. They get panicky. Go all to pieces when
they find out what it really means to let go of themselves. God!
She's wonderful!" He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes;
a smile settled on his lips.
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