"She hardly read the thing through. Cora is far too sensible to pay much attention to poetry."
"But poets are different, I suppose," answered Crane. Personally, he was pleased with the submarine simile.
"No, nor poets, either," said Mrs. Falkener tartly, and rising she hurried away to see if by some fortunate chance her errant daughter had returned without letting her know.
Left alone, Crane decided to give his friend his long-desired chance.
"Well, Tuck," he said, "you look in fine form. What have you been doing since I went away?"
"I have not had a very agreeable day," said Tucker, in a voice so low and deep that it was almost a growl.
"No? Not a return of your old dyspepsia, I hope," said Crane.
Tucker shook his head impatiently.
"At breakfast," he said, "I heard from Mrs. Falkener, who had heard from her daughter, that you had observed the loss of the miniature that used to lie on this table. Such things cannot be taken lightly, Burton. The owners might put almost any price on an article of that kind—wretched as it was, as a work of art—and you would be forced to pay. You see, it could not be replaced. I thought it my duty, therefore, to send for each of the servants and question them on the subject."
"You thought it your duty to send for Jane-Ellen, Tuck?"