United States or Slovakia ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Ralph had intended to grant a holiday if it should be asked, but it was not asked. Hank Banta was the ringleader in the disaffection, and he had managed to draw the surly Bud, who was present this morning, into it. It is but fair to say that Bud was in favor of making a request before resorting to extreme measures, but he was overruled.
He would ask that Henry Banta be called. Hank came forward sheepishly, and was sworn. Lived about a hundred yards from the house that was robbed. He seen ole man Pearson and the master and one other feller that he didn't know come away from there together about one o'clock. He heerd the horses kickin', and went out to the stable to see about them.
"If you don't, I'll break every bone in your body." The threat left its object quite unmoved. He pointed a crayon at Peter Quick Banta's creation. "What is that? A bool-rush?" "It's a laylock; that's what it is." "And the little bird that goes to light " "That ain't a bird and you know it." Peter Quick Banta breathed hard. "That's a butterfly." "I see. But the lie-lawc, it drop so!"
The spirit of the bulldog had complete possession of him. "It is of no use for me to tell you that Henry Banta has sworn to a lie, partly to revenge himself on me for punishments I have given him, and partly, perhaps, for money. The real thieves are in this court-room. I could put my finger on them." "To be sure," responded the old basket-maker. Ralph looked at Pete Jones, then at Small.
It was this same Banta who, when Fireman David H. Soden had been buried under the falling walls of a Pell Street house, crept through a gap in the basement wall, in among the fallen timbers, and, in imminent peril of his own life, worked there with a hand-saw two long hours to free his comrade, while the firemen held the severed timbers up with ropes to give him a chance.
The artist had spoken through his ordained medium and the presentment of life stood forth. I hardly dared look at Peter Quick Banta. But beneath his uncouth exterior there lay a great and magnanimous soul. "Son," said he, "you're a wonder. Wanta keep them crayons?"
Hearing the nature of the testimony given by Hank Banta before he entered, he attacked Hank and vowed he'd send him to prison if he didn't make a clean breast. Hank was a thorough coward, and, now that his friends were prisoners, was ready enough to tell the truth if he could be protected from prosecution.
On a day when the local philanthropy market was slack, and Miss Holland, seated in the Bonnie Lassie's front window, was maturing some new and benign outrage upon our sensibilities, she called out to the sculptress at work on a group: "There's a queer man making queer marks on your sidewalk." "That's Peter Quick Banta. He's a fellow artist."
But how" she turned the lovely and puzzled inquiry of her eyes upon the symbolist "how did you know?" "Artistic intuition," said Peter Quick Banta with profound complacency. "I'm an artist." Wayfarers on the far side of Our Square used to stop before Number 37 and wonder. The little house, it seemed, was making music at them. "Kleam, kleam, kleam, kleam," it would pipe pleasantly.
"And," continued the officer, "send for the relatives of the natives this man Nestor murdered on Banta Isle. We'll have them for witnesses." "They attacked me," Ned said, in a second sorry that he had spoken at all. "They were ordered to recover the Manhattan, property stolen from the government," was the reply, "and you resisted them. Put a stick in his mouth, Ben, if he talks any more."
Word Of The Day