CHAPTER VII
BETWEEN a night of maternal agonies and an earthquake which wrenched the city to its foundations, Mrs. Tarleton’s spirit was very nearly shaken out of her frail body.
Mr. Maundrell, after despatching two detectives in search of the truants, spent the greater part of the night pacing up and down the upper hall. He called upon Mrs. Tarleton late in the evening, and assured her that his son was a manly little chap, and would take good care of Lee. As the night waxed he called again. Miss Hayne was holding salts to the invalid’s nostrils, and fanning her. Mrs. Tarleton implored him to remain near her; he was so cool he gave her a little courage. He consented hastily and retreated. When the earthquake came he entered Mrs. Tarleton’s room unceremoniously and stood by her bed, throwing a shawl over her head to protect it from falling plaster. The chandelier leapt from side to side like a circus girl at the end of a rope, then came down with a crash which drew an exhausted shriek from the bed. The wardrobe walked out into the middle of the room, the pictures sprang from the walls. Mrs. Tarleton, stifled, flung the shawl from her head. Mr. Maundrell stood, imperturbable, beside her, a monocle in his eye, critically regarding the evidences of California’s iniquity. She began to laugh hysterically, and he fled from the room and begged Miss Hayne—who had rushed out shrieking—to return.
He went down to his own rooms. It was eight o’clock in the morning. People in various stages of undress were grouped in the halls volubly giving their experiences. Not a woman but Mrs. Hayne had a dress on, not a woman had her hair out of curl-papers. The men had paused long enough to fling on dressing-gowns and blankets. They were visibly embarrassed.
Three hours later Mr. Maundrell was in his sitting-room reading an earthquake “extra.” The door opened and a small boy, with a cold in his head, dirty, ragged, scratched, and apologetic, entered and awaited his doom. Mr. Maundrell glanced up. Cecil shivered.
“Go and take a bath,” said his father curtly. “You are positively sickening. And kindly do not bore me with your adventures. I have really had as much as I can stand.”