_As_ an American citizen, I decline _to_
become the representative _of_ a British nobleman who takes such means
_of_ investigating questions which affect the hair and happiness _of_
his fellow-creatures."
I don't know whether Charles was most disappointed at missing the
chance of so clever a superintendent for the mine at Cloetedorp, or
elated at the novel description of himself as "a British nobleman;"
which is not precisely our English idea of a colonial knighthood.
Three days later, accordingly, the Quackenbosses left the Lakeside
Hotel. We were bound on an expedition up the lake ourselves, when
the pretty little woman burst in with a dash to tell us they were
leaving. She was charmingly got up in the neatest and completest of
American travelling-dresses. Charles held her hand affectionately.
"I'm sorry it's good-bye," he said. "I have done my best to secure
your husband."
"You couldn't have tried harder than I did," the little woman
answered, and the tip-tilted nose looked quite pathetic; "for I just
hate to be buried right down there in Kentucky! However, Elihu is
the sort of man a woman can neither drive nor lead; so we've got to
put up with him." And she smiled upon us sweetly, and disappeared
for ever.
Charles was disconsolate all that day.
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