Mrs. Bob: A Novel — page 37: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

HAWK’S NEST. 99 -amile through that blazing woods, carrying me— just fancy. Some one give him a horse.”? A servant leaps to the ground. ‘‘He is welcome to my mount, Miss Gypsy,’’ says a smooth voice, a polished, even voice that marks the possessor a man of education and refinement— something in it would readily betray to a shrewd observer that the speaker is a Southern man—a Virginian. | But Pemberton starts at the sound and looks keenly up at the speaker. ‘Ah! Mr. Guy Livingstone here. This is an unex- pected pleasure—I anticipated seeing you in time, but did not dream you would outstrip me in the race.”’ “My dear fellow,’’ says the other, with a light laugh, as he flips the ashes from his cigar with his little finger, ‘‘remember the old saying, ‘the race is not always to the swift.’ ”’ ‘“Begar! hear ze words of wisdom—I am positif zat it sall be so wif us. Mr. Bob, I salute you!’’ ‘Monsieur Merle here, too,’’? mutters the man from New York, as though staggered. The light of the several lanterns reveals the four persons who serve to form such a strange company, ‘and this is what Bob sees as he glances from one to another: | There is Miss Gordon, a prim spinster, with a severe face and strait-laced person, whose counte- nance, however, may not be an index to her hidden heart. Then comes Senator John, the oddest, best-natured erank of a pilgrim who ever trotted around the globe GOMIIGcdooks (C(O) im