THE IVORY TOWER
"Oh twaddle!" snapped Mr. Gaw with the emphasis of his glare—shifted a moment, Gray next saw, to a new object in range. Gray felt himself even before turning for it rejoined by Miss Mumby, who, rounding the corner of the house, had paused as in presence of an odd conjunction; not made the less odd moreover by Mr. Gaw's instant appeal to her. "You think he ain't then going to———?"
He had to leave it at that, but Miss Mumby supplied, with the loudest confidence, what appeared to be wanted. "He ain't going to get better? Oh we hope so!" she declared to Graham's delight.
It helped him to contribute in his own way. "Mr. Gaw's surprise seems for his holding out!"
"Oh I guess he'll hold out," Miss Mumby was pleased to say.
"Then if he ain't dying what's the fuss about?" Mr. Gaw wanted to know.
"Why there ain't any fuss—but what you seem to make," Miss Mumby could quite assure him.
"Oh well, if you answer for it———!" He got up on this, though with an alertness that, to Gray's sense, didn't work quite truly, and stood an instant looking from one of his companions to the other, while our young man's eyes, for their part, put a question to Miss Mumby's—a question which, articulated, would have had the sense of
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