CHAPTER VI. GLENCOE
It was nearly noon when Stephen walked into the office the next day, dusty and travel-worn and perspiring. He had come straight from the ferry, without going home. And he had visions of a quiet dinner with Richter under the trees at the beer-garden, where he could talk about Abraham Lincoln. Had Richter ever heard of Lincoln?
But the young German met him at the top of the stair—and his face was more serious than usual, although he showed his magnificent teeth in a smile of welcome.
“You are a little behind your time, my friend,” said he, “What has happened you?”
“Didn't the Judge get Mr. Lincoln's message?” asked Stephen, with anxiety.
The German shrugged his shoulders.
“Ah, I know not,” he answered, “He has gone is Glencoe. The Judge is ill, Stephen. Doctor Polk says that he has worked all his life too hard. The Doctor and Colonel Carvel tried to get him to go to Glencoe. But he would not budge until Miss Carvel herself comes all the way from the country yesterday, and orders him. Ach!” exclaimed Richter, impulsively, “what wonderful women you have in America! I could lose my head when I think of Miss Carvel.”
“Miss Carvel was here, you say?” Stephen repeated, in a tone of inquiry.
“Donner!” said Richter, disgusted, “you don't care.”