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With the greater part of my Hadley-and-Shelton earnings in my pocket, and with muscles camp-hardened sufficiently to enable me to hold my own as a workingman, I decided to take a chance and become a prospector. We went at it judiciously and with well-considered plans, three of us: the bank teller, Barrett, a young carpenter named Gifford, and myself.

Barrett thrust his hands deep into his pockets. "I have often wondered, Jimmie, if they really are downhill. Nobody, outside of the men on their own pay-roll, knows anything about it definitely; and Blackwell wouldn't let an outside engineer go down his shaft for a king's ransom. I know it, because I have tried to send one.

If the danger had continued for several hours in this way, the men were told to go to the medical depot or report to a doctor as soon as possible. Prophylaxis was then steadily applied during 1917 by Colonel Sir James Barrett and others, and at the end of 1917 v.d. had been reduced to small proportions. In December, 1917, Colonel P.G. Elgood, Base Commandant of Port Said, wrote:

He was a man of some education, but had a violent, ungovernable temper, during fits of which he did very brutal things. At other times he would show a disposition towards fairness and justice. The worst point in my indictment against him is that he suffered Barrett to do as he did. Let the reader understand that I have no personal reasons for my opinion of these men.

Jernshaw, who was taking the opportunity of a lull in business to weigh out pound packets of sugar, knocked his hands together and stood waiting for the order of the tall bronzed man who had just entered the shop a well-built man of about forty who was regarding him with blue eyes set in quizzical wrinkles. "What, Harry!" exclaimed Mr. Jernshaw, in response to the wrinkles. "Harry Barrett!"

I have found it necessary in a former chapter, where I have given a number of interesting and characteristic letters from Landor to my wife's father, to insert a deprecatory caveat against the exuberant enthusiasm of admiration which led him to talk of the probability of her eclipsing the names and fame of other poets, including in this estimate Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

"I can't," he said through his shut teeth. "It would be of no use." "Coward!" she said fiercely. "And you would let the boy drown!" The words had been low and hurried, and no one was near to hear them, or to check Phebe. For a moment, Mr. Barrett turned white. He started to reply; then he controlled himself and was silent. This was not the time to seek to justify himself.

Barrett. He doesn't seem especially interesting. He looks conceited and he toes in; but his work is wonderful. Besides, I want to have him hear me play. He looks as if he wouldn't mind telling disagreeable truths, and I want somebody to tell me whether I am wasting all my time, trying to do something that is impossible.

Barrett, he says, lookin' like th' meek puppy he is, 'an' you'll have t' look some place else for th' person that done it. But she wouldn't talk no longer jus' walked out, as mad as a hornet." "Well, well," mused Mrs. Radigan. "I wonder what 'twas all about. 'Criminal, she said, eh? That's funny!" She walked to the front of the office and peeked through the wicket.

Through lack of proper food I had become too weak to ascend these stairs without sitting down once or twice to rest, and within a month after my experience with the appreciative grandmother I was discovered during one of these resting periods by Mrs. Barrett, the superintendent of the Woman's Foreign Missionary Society, which had offices in our building.