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The effect of this tableau was, like the first, far greater than anticipated. The audience laughed till they cried; and not the least part of the amusement was the retreat of the "peaceful oxen," wildly careering back to the pasture, their harness fluttering behind their frightened heels. After a short pause the Battle of Bunker Hill began in earnest, and was esteemed a great success.
A leading Southern senator boasted that he would yet call the roll of his slaves on Bunker Hill; and, for a while, the political successes of the Slave Power were such as to suggest to New England that this was no impossible event.
In other respects, the upward and downward swing, the grip, the follow-through, and everything else are the same. With many players the club is a particular favourite for the tee shot at short holes of, say, 140 to 160 yards length with a tolerably high bunker guarding the green a type of hole very frequently encountered, and which simply calls for steady, sure play to get the bogey 3.
And when I drive into the deep grass, as is my wont, my work with the niblick would make you think of somebody bailing out a sinking boat. My bunker exercises are frequently what you might call violent. And in the fall of the year I do a lot of tramping about in the woods with a gun. I might add that on a hunting trip I can walk many a skinny person into a state of total exhaustion."
Even before breakfast they had thought of the good times they were going to have in camp at Lake Wanda. "Daddy, may we go out and see the tent now?" asked Bunny. "After a bit," answered Mr. Brown. "The tent got rather wet, coming by express through the rain, and I'm going to send Bunker Blue and some of the fishermen around to-day to put it up so it will dry out.
"But I do," corrected Livingstone quietly, looking straight into Harding's amazed eyes. "Mr. and Mrs. Warden are my guests. They are going to drive to Bunker Hill with me by and by." When the six o'clock accommodation train pulled out from Boston that night it bore a little old man and a little old woman, gray-haired, weary, but blissfully content.
You're all right." So Vi stepped out of the soap box, which Laddie had called the boat, and started for shore. The box floated down the brook, and Russ ran out on a little point of land to catch hold of it when it should float to him. "Now you're all right," said Mrs. Bunker to her little girl, as Vi came ashore. "But what happened?"
“I shall leave you to make a single-handed conquest,” replied Mr Bunker. “Besides, I have a little matter I want to look into.” So the Baron arranged his hat airily, at what he had perceived to be the most fashionable and effective English angle, and strutted off to the esplanade. It was about two hours later that he burst excitedly into the room, crying, “Aha, mine Bonker!
The mate says there is a story of a man picked up crazy, in an open fishing-boat, somewhere off the peninsula, and brought into hospital at San Juan last August. He recovered enough lately to tell his story and claim to be Captain Bunker of the Excelsior, whose crew mutinied and ran her ashore in a fog.
"Yes, that's so, he might do it, if he is honest," said Mr. Bunker. "But perhaps he isn't, and maybe he has not yet looked in the pockets of the coat. But I'll just telephone to the police, and see if any of them have seen the tramp that came to my office." There were not many policemen in Pineville, and most of them knew Mr. Bunker.
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