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This second little run out is not worth describing; we sighted Bowers's party coming back with the five ponies whilst we were camped one night, and we noted that they were travelling very quickly, which proved all was well with these animals. On arrival at Corner Camp Scott left us in order to get back and see the five ponies safely conducted to Hut Point.
Then, she dipped a bucket of water from the barrel, made a fire in the tiny camp stove and put on the tea kettle. She looked with distaste at a pile of soiled dishes that remained from Bowers's breakfast, and at the unmade bunk with a grimy flour sack for a pillow case. "Thank goodness, Bowers will be back to-morrow!"
Bowers's head swung as though on a pivot. "What did you say?" "I've heerd that's what they call her." Bowers's eyes narrowed as he answered: "Not in my hearin'." Then he added: "Nobody can knock the outfit I'm workin' for and eat their grub while they're doin' it. Sabe?" "Don't know as I blame you," the stranger conciliated. "I'll go cook," said Bowers shortly, getting up.
On the other hand, the woman regained her self-possession by this exhibition of Mr. Bowers's vanity, and, revived by the refreshing breeze caused by the rapid motion of the buggy along the road, thanked him graciously. "I suppose there are many strangers at the Green Springs Hotel," she said, after a pause. "I didn't get to see 'em, as I only put up my hoss there," he replied.
Kate never paid wages for anything that she could do herself, so the morning after her decision to start for the mountains she was in the saddle and leading two work horses on the way to move Oleson's and Bowers's camps before the sun was up.
He's silkier every time I see him." Bowers's memory lingered upon the soft-spoken interview with the great state leader. "Well?" Shelby jogged him crisply. "He knows all about Graves as he knows about everybody. Says he has met the scholar in politics before. Do you remember how he took care of that kid-gloved aggregation which tried to run him out of business a year or so ago?
Under the tactful guidance of Edward Tredgold the conversation was led to shipwrecks, fires at sea, and other subjects of the kind comforting to the landsman, Mr. Chalk favouring them with a tale of a giant octopus, culled from Captain Bowers's collection, which made Mrs. Stobell's eyes dilate with horror. "You won't see any octopuses," said her husband. "You needn't worry about them."
"We hope that you can come to New York to study before very long. We have thought of that. And you must tell me how you are getting on with Bowers. Andor will want to know all about it." "I guess I get on more or less. But I don't like my work very well. It never seems serious as my work with Mr. Harsanyi did. I play Bowers's accompaniments in the afternoons, you know.
It was lost in the thrilling blue of the new sky and the song of the thin wind in the PINONS. The old, fretted lines which marked one off, which defined her, made her Thea Kronborg, Bowers's accompanist, a soprano with a faulty middle voice, were all erased. So far she had failed. Her two years in Chicago had not resulted in anything.
Shelby ran through his senior's calculations and nodded without speech. No one spoke now. Not a wine-glass tinkled. The room sensed a crisis. By telephone, special messenger, and the instrument at the table the belated story of New Babylon's vote pieced itself together under Bowers's pencil. The candidate hovered above him, intent on every stroke.
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