human
I said I wanted to be in at the death, and for a few minutes to-night I thought I was going to be, he told Brouillard, when the engineer had posted his guards and had climbed the stair to the editorial office. Then he asked a question:
gpt
When is this little hell-on-earth going to be finally extinguished, Victor?
human
Did you know that Cortwright and Schermerhorn and Judge Williams came back this evening, Harlan?
gpt
I did, said the newspaper man.
human
They are registered at the Metropole as large as life. And Miss Genevieve and Lord Falkland and Cortwright's ugly duckling of a son came with them. What's up?
gpt
That is what I'd like to know. There's a bunch of strangers at the Metropole, too, a sheriff's posse, Poodles thinks; at least, there is a deputy from Red Butte with the crowd.
human
This thing is getting on my nerve, old man. I wish we could clean the slate and all go home.
gpt
It is going to be cleaned. Notices will be posted to-morrow warning everybody that the waste-gates will be closed promptly on the date advertised.
human
When is it? Things have been revolving too rapidly to let me remember such a trivial item as a date.
gpt
It is the day after to-morrow, at noon.
human
Let her go, Gallagher. I've got everything on skids, even the presses. _Au revoir_--or perhaps one should say, _Au reservoir_.