"I appreciate
your feeling. But there ain't any danger," he added, buoyantly. "Anyhow,
you spoke too late, as the Irishman said to the chicken when he swallowed
him in a fresh egg. I've asked Lindau, and he's accepted with blayzure;
that's what he says."
March made no other comment than a shrug.
"You'll see," Fulkerson continued, "it 'll go off all right. I'll engage
to make it, and I won't hold anybody else responsible."
In the course of his married life March had learned not to censure the
irretrievable; but this was just what his wife had not learned; and she
poured out so much astonishment at what Fulkerson had done, and so much
disapproval, that March began to palliate the situation a little.
"After all, it isn't a question of life and death; and, if it were, I
don't see how it's to be helped now."
"Oh, it's not to be helped now. But I am surprised at Mr. Fulkerson."
"Well, Fulkerson has his moments of being merely human, too."
Mrs. March would not deign a direct defence of her favorite. "Well, I'm
glad there are not to be ladies."
"I don't know. Dryfoos thought of having ladies, but it seems your
infallible Fulkerson overruled him. Their presence might have kept Lindau
and our host in bounds.
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