III
In the butler’s pantry old Murfins was straightening out the tradesmen’s orders for a dinner party. Stebbins, near-by, was polishing liqueur glasses with a flannel cloth.
“But I’m thinking there’s going to be family fireworks, Steb, when the Ruggleses come home and hear what she’s done. They got an awful good opinion of themselves—those Ruggleses. Amos’s wife threw an awful fit, I heard, when her brother married the Missus which up to that time had been practically a Nobody. Now there’s a child from an orphanage come to get a look-see at the moneybags. Can you see ’em standing for it, Steb?”
“The Missus is too smart to have any will drawed that them Ruggleses can break.”
“You never can tell, Steb. There’s lawyers and lawyers. Some of ’em could drive a coach unscorched through hell.”
“Well, I hope young Gordon don’t get any of it—his aunt’s money, I mean. He’s a bad one, Gordon is! Remember how he almost killed the roan colt last time he was here? Murphy wasn’t goin’ to stand by and have no horse abused like that. I seen it all. When he interfered, Gord went for him with his quirt. If the Missus hadn’t showed up when she did, Mike’d busted the young roughneck wide open.” Murphy was the Theddon coachman.
“She’s provin’ she’s a bit of an angel,” observed Murfins. “I’d hate to see her get the short end of it.” He meant Madelaine.
They worked in silence for a few minutes. Then Stebbins remarked:
“Wonder how Gord’ll behave next time he comes to visit here and finds the princess his aunt’s got out of an asylum.”
“Not an asylum, Steb. An asylum’s a crazy house where they store insane lunatics that ain’t quite right in their heads!”