Grace and Elfreda were laughing immoderately, and Hippy was chuckling to himself. All knew that Miss Dean knew the meaning of the word, but that Stacy, with his question, had confused her.
“I believe the dictionary explains it as being elevated in soul,” answered the guide smilingly.
“Oh, Hamilton, isn’t that wonderful?” breathed Emma. “It sounds so utterly poetic.”
“You wouldn’t think so were you to swallow it with a bag of peanuts,” grumbled the fat boy.
And after the laughter had subsided, Grace announced that she was tired and said she would turn in.
“Do we make an early start in the morning, Mr. White?” she asked, turning smilingly towards the guide.
“Yes, if that is agreeable to you, Mrs. Gray,” was the courteous reply. The easy grace of this man, and the evident culture that was beneath the surface, had puzzled Grace Harlowe from the beginning. There was that about him that was mysterious, unfathomable. These thoughts were in the Overland girl’s mind as she turned towards the little tent which she and Elfreda occupied together.
“By the way, Mr. Haley,” she added, halting at the tent opening, “Mr. White will fix you up for the night with a blanket. If you will bunk in with Lieutenant Wingate, there is room. Mr. White prefers to sleep in the open.”
“So do I. In the vast open, with the ambient atmosphere enveloping me like a blanket, I can ponder over the psychology of merchandising peanuts better than when I am shut in. All nature assists, the saplings sap and seep into my brain, into my subconscious being, and the leaves leave their native habitat to come to my aid, and—”
“One can’t blame them so much for that,” observed Emma. “Good-night, Mr. Haley; good-night, Hamilton; good-night, all.”