"And such a teller of good tales that your friends cannot forbear imposing upon you." "Then tell us a canoe story," the baron begged.

"A good one! A--what you Yankees call--a _hair-raiser_!" They drew up to Mrs.Schoville's fat wood-burning stove, and St.

Vincent told of the great whirlpool in the Box Canyon, of the terrible corkscrew in the mane of the White Horse Rapids, and of his cowardly comrade, who, walking around, had left him to go through alone--nine years before when the Yukon was virgin.
Half an hour later Mrs.Schoville bustled in, with Corliss in her wake.
"That hill! The last of my breath!" she gasped, pulling off her mittens.
"Never saw such luck!" she declared none the less vehemently the next moment.
"This play will never come off! I never shall be Mrs.Linden! How can I?
Krogstad's gone on a stampede to Indian River, and no one knows when he'll be back! Krogstad" (to Corliss) "is Mr.Maybrick, you know.

And Mrs.Alexander has the neuralgia and can't stir out.

So there's no rehearsal to-day, that's flat!" She attitudinized dramatically: "'_Yes, in my first terror! But a day has passed, and in that day I have seen incredible things in this house! Helmer must know everything! There must be an end to this unhappy secret! O Krogstad, you need me, and I--I need you_,' and you are over on the Indian River making sour-dough bread, and I shall never see you more!" They clapped their applause.
"My only reward for venturing out and keeping you all waiting was my meeting with this ridiculous fellow." She shoved Corliss forward.