in a gale, and a black mustache with waxed ends that you'd think would
punch holes in the pillow case. His talk was like his writing, only
worse, but from the time his big trunk with the foreign labels was
carried upstairs, he was skipper and all hands of the "Old Home House."

And the funny part of it was that old man Dillaway was as much gone on
him as the rest. For a self-made American article he was the worst gone
on this machine-made importation that ever you see. I s'pose when you've
got more money than you can spend for straight goods you nat'rally go in
for buying curiosities; I can't see no other reason.

Anyway, from the minute the count come over the side it was "Good-by,
Peter." The foreigner was first oar with the old man and general consort
for the daughter. Whenever there was a sailing trip on or a spell of
roosting in the Lover's Nest, Ebenezer would see that the count looked
out for the "queen," while Brown stayed on the piazza and talked
bargains with papa. It worried Peter--you could see that. He'd set in
the barn with Jonadab and me, thinking, thinking, and all at once he'd
bust out:

"Bless that Dago's heart! I haven't chummed in with the degenerate
aristocracy much in my time, but somewhere or other I've seen that chap
before. Now where--where--where?"

For the first two weeks the count paid his board like a major; then
he let it slide. Jonadab and me was a little worried, but he was
advertising us like fun, his photographs--snap shots by Peter--was
getting into the papers, so we judged he was a good investment. But
Peter got bluer and bluer.