Nicholas Jelnik, who came and went, unruffled, aloof, with
inscrutable eyes and a gently mocking smile.
The Harrison-Gores came shortly after Morenas left. The Englishman
was a pink-faced old gentleman in a shabby Norfolk suit and with the
very thinnest legs on record--"mocking-bird legs," Fernolia called
them. His daughter was a gray-eyed Minerva with the skin of a baby
and the walk of a Highland piper. They found Carolina people
charming, and they secured some valuable data for their book, "The
Beginnings of American History." Everything in Hynds House pleased
them, even The Author.
Other people who do not enter into this story came and went during
that winter. But they were merely millionaires--people who motored
around the lovely country, ate Mary Magdalen's hot biscuit and fried
chicken, slept in our four-posters, paid their stiff bills
thankfully, and went about their business as good millionaires
should, and generally do. Only one out of them all was disagreeable;
he wanted to buy Hynds House out of hand for a proposed club of
which he was to be founder and president.
"It'd be just what the bunch would like," he told me.
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