I lingered in San
Francisco, indemnifying myself after the hardships of
the cruise, spending money, regretting it, continually
promising departure for the morrow. Why not go indeed,
and keep a watch upon Bellairs? If I missed him, there
was no harm done, I was the nearer Paris. If I found
and kept his trail, it was hard if I could not put some
stick in his machinery, and at the worst I could
promise myself interesting scenes and revelations.
In such a mixed humour, I made up what it pleases me to
call my mind, and once more involved myself in the
story of Carthew and the FLYING SCUD. The same
night I wrote a letter of farewell to Jim, and one of
anxious warning to Dr. Urquart, begging him to set
Carthew on his guard; the morrow saw me in the ferry-
boat; and ten days later, I was walking the hurricane-
deck on the CITY OF DENVER. By that time my mind
was pretty much made down again, its natural condition:
I told myself that I was bound for Paris or
Fontainebleau to resume the study of the arts; and I
thought no more of Carthew or Bellairs, or only to
smile at my own fondness.
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