" Then came Truman and Westervelt
to beg Blakely to come to them. Then came a note from Mrs. Sanders,
reminding him that, as an officer of the cavalry, it would be casting
reflections on his own corps to go and dwell with aliens. "Captain
Sanders would never forgive me," said she, "if you did not take our
spare room. Indeed, I shall feel far safer with a man in the house now
that we are having fires and Indian out-breaks and prisoners escaping
and all that sort of thing. _Do_ come, Mr. Blakely." And in that blue
flannel shirt and the trooper trousers and bandanna neckerchief,
Blakely went and thanked her; sent for Nixon and his saddle-bags, and
with such patience as was possible settled down forthwith. Truth to
tell it was high time he settled somewhere, for excitement, exposure,
physical ill, and mental torment had told upon him severely. At
sunset, as he seemed too miserable to leave his room and come to the
dining table, Mrs. Sanders sent for the doctor, and reluctantly
Blakely let him in.
That evening, just after tattoo had sounded, Kate Sanders and Angela
were having murmured conference on the Wrens' veranda. Aunt Janet had
gone to hospital to carry unimpeachable jelly to the several patients
and dubious words of cheer. Jelly they absorbed with much avidity and
her words with meek resignation.
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