“And truthful beyond peradventure,” observed Xanthippe, as she reflected upon the words the captain had attributed to Socrates. “I didn’t believe him at first, but when he told me what my sweet-tempered philosopher had said, I was convinced.”
“He’s a sweet child,” interposed Mrs. Noah, fondly. “One of my favorite grandchildren.”
“Which makes it embarrassing for me to say,” cried Cassandra, starting up angrily, “that he is a base caitiff!”
Had a bomb been dropped in the middle of the room, it could not have created a greater sensation than the words of Cassandra.
“What?” cried several voices at once. “A caitiff?”
“A caitiff with a capital K,” retorted Cassandra. “I know that, because while he was telling his story I was listening to it with one ear and looking forward into the middle of next week with the other—I mean the other eye—and I saw—”
“Yes, you saw?” cried Cleopatra.
“I saw that he was deceiving us. Mark my words, ladies, he is a base caitiff,” replied Cassandra—“a base caitiff.”
“What did you see?” cried Elizabeth, excitedly.
“This,” said Cassandra, and she began a narration of future events which I must defer to the next chapter. Meanwhile his associates were endeavoring to restore the evaporated portions of the prostrated Kidd’s spirit anatomy by the use of a steam-atomizer, but with indifferent success. Kidd’s training had not fitted him for an intellectual combat with superior women, and he suffered accordingly.