“I am dreadfully sorry!” said Gideon apologetically. “If I had had any manners I should have opened the box first and smashed my hand afterward. It feels much better,” he added. “I assure you it does.”
“And now I think you are well enough to direct operations,” said she. “Tell me what to do, and I’ll be your workman.”
“A very pretty workman,” said Gideon, rather forgetting himself. She turned and looked at him, with a suspicion of a frown; and the indiscreet young man was glad to direct her attention to the packing-case. The bulk of the work had been accomplished; and presently Julia had burst through the last barrier and disclosed a zone of straw. In a moment they were kneeling side by side, engaged like hay-makers; the next they were rewarded with a glimpse of something white and polished; and the next again laid bare an unmistakable marble leg.
“He is surely a very athletic person,” said Julia.
“I never saw anything like it,” responded Gideon. “His muscles stand out like penny rolls.”
Another leg was soon disclosed, and then what seemed to be a third. This resolved itself, however, into a knotted club resting upon a pedestal.
“It is a Hercules,” cried Gideon; “I might have guessed that from his calf. I’m supposed to be rather partial to statuary, but when it comes to Hercules, the police should interfere. I should say,” he added, glancing with disaffection at the swollen leg, “that this was about the biggest and the worst in Europe. What in heaven’s name can have induced him to come here?”
“I suppose nobody else would have a gift of him,” said Julia. “And for that matter, I think we could have done without the monster very well.”
“O, don’t say that,” returned Gideon. “This has been one of the most amusing experiences of my life.”
“I don’t think you’ll forget it very soon,” said Julia. “Your hand will remind you.”