George was scarcely listening. His thoughts had returned to the delicious task of fingering his great idea.
“Take 'im off, Mr. George,” Mr. Fletcher implored.
George passed a handkerchief under Abiram's collar; tugged for the gate; there dispatched the dog down the road.
Abiram shook his head; trotted with dejected stern. A job had been left unfinished.
XII.
Hallooing safety to the apple-tree, too preoccupied to inquire further into the reason for the gun and the presence of Bill's dog, George turned for the house.
Awakening birds carolled his presence. They hymned the adventures of the day that Dawn, her handmaiden, came speeding, silver-footed, perfume-bearing, fresh from her dewy bath, to herald.
George put up an answering pipe. For him also the day was adventure-packed and must lustily be hymned. Entering Mr. Marrapit's study he drew the blinds; upon a telegraph form set Mary's name and her address; pondered; then to these words compressed his great idea:
“Go agency this morning. Get name on books. Meet you there. Think can get you situation here. George.”
“Immediately the office opens,” said George; trod up to his room.