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Andrew the Glad
By MARIA THOMPSON DAVIESS
Author of Miss Selina Lue, Rose of Old Harpeth The Melting of Molly, etc.
1913
"There are some women who will brew mystery from the decoction ofeven a very simple life. Matilda is one of them," remarked the major tohimself as he filled his pipe and settled himself before his high-piled,violet-flamed logs. "It was waxing strong in her this morning and anexcitement will arrive shortly. Now I wonder—"
"Howdy, Major," came in a mockingly lugubrious voice from the hall, andDavid Kildare blew into the room. He looked disappointedly around,dropped into a chair and lowered his voice another note.
"Seen Phoebe?" he demanded.
"No, haven't you?" answered the major as he lighted his pipe and regardedthe man opposite him with a large smile of welcome.
"Not for three days, hand-running. She's been over to see Andy with Mrs.
Matilda twice, and I've missed her both times. Now, how's that for luck?"
"Well," said the major reflectively, "in the terms of modern parlance,you certainly are up against it. And did it ever occur to you that a manwith three ribs broken and a dislocated collar-bone, who has written aplay and a sprinkle of poems, is likely to interest Phoebe Donelsonenormously? There is nothing like poetry to implant a divine passion, andAndrew is undoubtedly of poetic stamp."
"Oh, poetry—hang! It's more Andy's three ribs than anything else. Hejust looks pale and smiles at all of 'em. He always did have yellow dogeyes, the sad kind. I'd like to smash all two dozen of his ribs," andKildare slashed at his own sturdy legs with his crop. He had dropped inwith his usual morning's tale of woe to confide to Major Buchanan, and hehad found him, as always, ready to hand out an incendiary brand ofsympathy.
"He ought not to have more than twenty-three; one on the right sideshould be missing. Some woman's got it—maybe Phoebe," said the majorwith deadly intent.
"Nothing of the kind. I'm shy a rib myself and Phoebe is it. Don't Iget a pain in my side every time I see her? It's the real psychic thing,only she doesn't seem to get hold of her end of the wire like she might."
"Don't trust her, David, don't trust her! You see his being injured inPanama, building bridges for his country, while you sat here idly readingthe newspapers about it, has had its appeal. I know it's dangerous, butyou ought to want Phoebe to soothe h