"Packing? Why?"
"Orders, sir."
Without loss of time I hunted up Tommy, finding him and Bilkins busy at carpentry.
"What's in the wind?" I brusquely demanded, forgetting that Tommy was rather particular about the way people addressed him.
"Rain," he imperturbably replied; or did he mean reign, and was employing a vulgar pun to apprize me of Doloria's decision! So I delivered a ten-second philippic on the poverty of some intellects, whereupon he left off working and regarded me with amusement.
"Fact is, Lord Chesterfield, I don't know what's in the wind," he said, "but we're leaving for Little Cove to-morrow at dawn. Bilkins and I are making a portable throne—in other words, a chair suspended from poles so Doloria won't have to walk. Professor came over about five o'clock in a rattling hurry and splendid humor. He's packing Efaw Kotee's effects now. Smilax left two hours ago with orders for the Whim to be there and take us off. Add it up for yourself."
"Orders," I angrily exclaimed, for this impertinence on the part of Monsieur was going too far. "He settles with me, that's all!—and the Whim stays in Big Cove till I send for her!"
He grinned, then whistled softly.
"So there's no use knicking my knuckles any more on this portable throne?"
"Not the slightest," I told him.