CHAPTER XXI.
REINFORCEMENTS All day Portlaw had been telephoning and telegraphing the various stations along the New York Central Railroad, following the schedule from his time-table and from the memoranda given him by young Mrs.
Malcourt; and now the big, double, covered buckboard and the fast horses, which had been sent to meet them at Pride's, was expected at any moment.
"At least," Portlaw confided with a subdued animation to Wayward, "we're going to have a most excellent dinner for them when they arrive.

My Frenchman is doing the capons in Louis XI style--" "Somebody," said Wayward pleasantly, "will do you in the same style some day." And he retired to dress, laughing in an odd way.

But Portlaw searched in vain for the humour which he had contrived somehow to miss.
He also missed Malcourt on such occasions--Malcourt whose nimble intelligence never missed a trick! "Thank the Lord he's coming!" he breathed devoutly.

"It's bad enough to have a man dying on the premises without having an earthly thing to do while he's doing it....

I can see no disrespect to Hamil if we play a few cards now and then." His valet was buttoning him up when Malcourt arrived and walked coolly into his room.
"Louis! Damnation!" ejaculated Portlaw, purple with emotion.
"Especially the latter," nodded Malcourt.