He stood bending above the breakfast-table, his lean,
shadowed hands perfectly at home, his lean, shadowed face all
automatic attention.
"Rollo," said St. George, "go and look out the window and see if
Sodom is smoking."
"Yes, sir," said Rollo, and moved to the nearest casement and bent
his look submissively below.
"Everything quiet, sir," he reported literally; "a very warm day,
sir. But it's easy to sleep, sir, no matter how warm the days are if
only the nights are cool. Begging your pardon, sir."
St. George nodded.
"You don't see Jezebel down there in the trees," he pressed him, "or
Elissa setting off to found Carthage? Chaldea and Egypt all calm?"
he anxiously put it.
Rollo stirred uneasily.
"There's a couple o' blue-tailed birds scrappin' in a palm tree,
sir," he submitted hopefully.
"Ah," said St. George, "yes. There would be. Now, if you like," he
gave his servant permission, "you may go to the festivals or the
funeral games or wherever you choose to-day. Or perhaps," he
remembered with solicitude, "you would prefer to be present at the
wedding-of-the-land-water-with-the-sea-water, providing, as I
suspect, Tyre is handy?"
"Thank you, sir," said Rollo doubtfully.
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