“Now don't stand there swearin' and askin' questions, but do as I tell you. You go to the—”
“But—but what AILS him? Is he drunk?”
“Drunk? What put such a notion as that in your head? Of course he isn't drunk.”
“He ain't—he ain't dead?”
“Don't be so silly. He's fainted away, that's all. He's tired out and half sick and half starved, I guess. Here, where are you goin'?”
“I'm a-goin' to fetch some water. They always heave water on fainted folks.”
“Well, this one's had all the water he needs already. The poor thing is soaked through. You go to the pantry and in the blue soup tureen, the one we don't use, you'll find a bottle of that cherry rum Cap'n Hallet gave me three years ago. Bring it right here and bring a tumbler and spoon with it. After that you see if you can get Doctor Powers on the telephone and ask him to come right down here as quick as he can. HURRY! Primmie Cash, if you stop to ask one more question I—I don't know what I'll do to you. Go ALONG!”
Miss Cash went along, noisily along. Her mistress bent over the wet, pitiful little figure upon the sofa.
And thus, working by devious ways, did Fate bring about the meeting of Galusha Cabot Bangs, of the National Institute, Washington, D. C., and Miss Martha Phipps, of East Wellmouth, which, it may be said in passing, was something of an achievement, even for Fate.
CHAPTER II
And in order to make clear the truth of the statement just made, namely, that Fate had achieved something when it brought Galusha Bangs to the door of Martha Phipps' home that rainy night in October—in order to emphasize the truth of that statement it may be well, without waiting further, to explain just who Galusha Cabot Bangs was, and who and what his family was, and how, although the Bangses were all very well in their way, the Cabots—his mother's family—were “the banking Cabots of Boston,” and were, therefore, very great people indeed.
“The banking Cabots” must not be confused
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