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All this from the daily press of Boston, where, one hundred and forty years ago, it was thought that a third weekly newspaper, scarcely large enough to wrap a baker's loaf in, could not be supported!
"Jake has been hollerin' thet chuck was ready. Now we can eat." "Dad did did your son come?" asked Columbine. "No. I got word jest at sundown. One of Baker's cowpunchers from up the valley. He rode up from Kremmlin' an' stopped to say Jack was celebratin' his arrival by too much red liquor. Reckon he won't be home to-night. Mebbe to-morrow."
That young man greeted him as gaily as ever, but into his manner had crept the shadow of a cold contempt. The stout youth's standards were his own, and rigid, as is often the case with people of his type. Bob felt himself suddenly and ruthlessly excluded from the ranks of those worthy of Baker's respect.
This lady looked at them a moment through her eyeglass, and then she said: "That's what makes you so pensive in these days, eh?" "I had not the least idea I was pensive," said the young man. "You are very much preoccupied; you are thinking of something." "And what is it," he asked, "that you accuse me of thinking of?" "Of that young lady's Miss Baker's, Miss Chandler's what's her name?
"And you left him?" A smile curled the corners of her mouth. "No," she said, slowly; "I didn't. We took two little rooms over a baker's shop in the High Street, Islington, and I stuck to him. I used to go out in an evening and do the marketing with a hand basket, to get it cheap.
It was you, too, who urged your superiors to put him to the question, because you said he was rich and had rich friends, and much money could be wrung out of him and them, whereof you were to get your share. Oh! yes, my information is good, is it not? Even what passes in the dungeons of the Holy House comes to the ears of the woman Inez. Well, do you still think that baker's oven too hot for you?"
What has become of little Agnes? I have seen many of our old friends, of whom I will tell you on my return. I have bought you a little carriage, the best I could find, which I hope will enable you to take some pleasant rides. All send love. Give mine to Mildred, and Custis, and all friends. I am just about starting to Mrs. Baker's. "Truly and affectionately, R. E. Lee. "Mrs. M. C. Lee."
So far from being in retreat southward and westward, so far from waiting supinely about Urgundeh until Macpherson as per programme should drive it on to the muzzles of Baker's Martinis, here it was inside our guard, in possession of the interior line, its front facing toward turbulent Cabul and depleted Sherpur, with no obstruction in its path save this handful of lancers and these four guns!
"Not at a', man not at a'," returned Mr. Jarvie; "that's a' your silly prejudications. I read whiles in the lang dark nights, and I hae read in Baker's Chronicle* that the merchants o'London could gar the Bank of Genoa break their promise to advance a mighty sum to the King o' Spain, whereby the sailing of the Grand Spanish Armada was put aff for a haill year What think you of that, sir?"
She was sleeping, surely. He had listened during the night and had not heard her. He had held her in his arms, had carried her up the stairs and placed her gently in a chair, leaving her in the care of the woman from the baker's shop at the corner of the alley. She would wake presently and he would see her. What should he say to her?
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