She brought in the breakfast, and spread it temptingly out on the table, a thankless task, for, as before, Le could not be persuaded to choke himself by attempting to swallow a morsel of solid food; but he drank cup after cup full of strong coffee, as fast as the woman could pour it out.
“Kill yerself! ’Deed you will, Marse Le! Drinkin’ so much strong coffee an’ a-puckerin’ ob yer stummick up, ’stead o’ fillin’ ob it out wid bread and meat! Kill yerse’f! ’Deed yer will!” said Martha, as at last she cleared the table and left the room.
“Yes, sah! Dere he is in de little parlor!” Le heard her say, as she passed through the hall, to some one at the front door.
And in another moment the room door was thrown open, and Roland Bayard appeared.
“Well?” demanded Le, excitedly, as he started up to meet his friend.
“Well, I can’t find the sneak! I believe he has cut and run, that’s what I believe!” exclaimed Roland, snatching his hat from his head, flinging it angrily on the floor, and throwing himself into a chair.
“What!” cried Le, facing him.
“I say the beat has beat a retreat!”
“What do you mean?” inquired Le.
Then Roland, having recovered his breath, told Le the story of his fruitless adventure at the Calvert House.