“'Such an intolerable deal of sack to such a poor pennyworth of bread,'” the colonel quoted, smiling at Moya's bloated envelope.
“But what do you think?” Mrs. Bogardus recalled him. “Don't you think it's a mistake all around?”
“Not at all, if they have a good man. This flat-footed fellow, John, will take command, as he should. There is no danger in the woods at any season unless the party gets rattled and goes to pieces for want of a head.”
“Father!” exclaimed Moya. “You know there is danger. Often, things have happened!”
“Why, what could happen?” asked Christine, with wide eyes.
“Many things very interesting could happen,” the colonel boasted cheerfully. “That is the object of the trip. You want things to happen. It is the emergency that makes the man—sifts him, and takes the chaff out of him.”
“Take the chaff out of Banks Bowen,” Moya imprudently struck in, “and what would you have left?” She had met Banks Bowen in New York.
“Tut, tut!” said the colonel. “Silence, or a good word for the absent—same as the”—The colonel stopped short.
“You are so scornful about the other men, now you have chosen one!” Christine's face turned red.
“Why, Chrissy! You would not compare your brother to those men! Papa, I beg your pardon; this is only for argument.”