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"Well, considerin' she's gone to N' York t' buy more clo'es as she don't need, an' considerin' Mr. Ravenslee's gone with her, I don't know." "An' what you do know don't cut no ice. Anyway, I'm gettin' lonesome." "What, ain't I here?" demanded Mrs. Trapes sharply. "Sure. I can't lose you!" "Oh! Now I'll tell you what it is, my good b'y " "Cheese it, Trapes, you make me tired, that's what."
You're so good." After another silence, the words came faintly: "B'y, won't you read to me those two chapters we've had before? the fourteenth of John and the thirteenth of First Corinthians... I'd like to hear them again, b'y... I'm very... sleepy... but I want to hear you read before... I go... to sleep." He was asleep. Like a weary child, he had fallen asleep with the first words.
Moike!" said the widow, touched by his eager look and tone, "what a b'y you are for questions! Would I be layin' all my burdens on you, when it's six brothers you've got? 'Twouldn't be fair to you. But to know you're so ready and willin' loightens my ivery load, and it's a comfort you are to me. Your father was always for makin' easy toimes for other people, and you're loike him, Moike.
Trapes opened the candy box again and, after long and careful deliberation, selected a chocolate with gentle, toil-worn fingers, and putting it in her mouth, sighed her approbation. "They sure are good!" she murmured. "But talkin' o' Hermy Chesterton's ma," she went on after a blissful interval, "I been wondering where you came to meet that b'y Arthur?" "Ah, Mrs.
The Tryst of the White Lady "I wisht ye'd git married, Roger," said Catherine Ames. "I'm gitting too old to work seventy last April and who's going to look after ye when I'm gone. Git married, b'y git married." Roger Temple winced. His aunt's harsh, disagreeable voice always jarred horribly on his sensitive nerves.
"Yes, b'y," I would reply, and so we would begin. If we happened to arouse George, which was not usual, Hubbard would insist on his describing over and over again the various Indian dishes he had prepared.
How could I be thinkin' anything else?" And then the meal went on. That evening, by permission, Pat went home. He sang, he whistled, he almost danced down the track. "And it's Pat as is the happy b'y this evenin'," said Mrs. O'Callaghan. "Listen to him singin' and whistlin', first wan and then the other. Gineral Brady's is the place for any one."
"Mr. Geoffrey, prayer is a wonderful prop to a anxious 'eart!" said Mrs. Trapes, leaning over the banisters to greet him as he ascended. "Mr. Geoffrey, my hands has been lifted in prayer for ye this night as so did me behoove, and here you are safe back with that b'y.
But, when the first carriage reached the triumphal arch at the end of the bridge, bombs were exploded, the drums beat, saluting the monarch's arrival upon his faithful subject's domain, and the climax of irony was reached when, in the half light, a blaze of gas suddenly illuminated the roof of the château with letters of fire, over which the rain and wind caused great shadows to run to and fro, but which still displayed very legibly the legend: "Viv' L' B'Y M'H'MED."
"For an instant I thought that was Alan Porter on Lauzanne," he said to Langdon, who was at his elbow. "A strange fancy I'm going up to the stand to watch the race:" "It's all roight but the win now," said Mike to Dixon. "I'm goin' in be the Judges' box to watch the finish. You'll be helpin' the b'y pass the scales, Andy."
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