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Slim was a failure; he stood for nothing in the world of achievement; for all the difference that his going made, he might never have been born. Then a thought as startling as the tangible appearance of some ironic, grinning imp flashed to his mind. Who was he, Bruce Burt, to criticise his partner, Slim? What more had he accomplished?
Amy was alone, and now was his chance to intercept her before she reached the house. Imagine her surprise as she saw him make his horse leap the intervening fences, and come galloping toward her. "Burt," she cried, as he, in a moment or two, reined up near her, "you will break your neck!" "It wouldn't matter much," he said, grimly. "I fear a worse fate than that."
"You must not be resentful," the young girl said, "if mamma's consent is not easily won. She has set her heart on an establishment in town, I've set my heart on you; so there we differ, and you must give me time to reconcile her to a different programme." The clock on the mantel chimed eleven, and Burt started up, aghast at the flight of time.
Burt to work. She had been home about half an hour, when the servant brought her up a message saying that a man wanted to speak to her. "Admit him," said Helen. "He is dressed very poor, miss." "Never mind; send him to me." She was afraid to reject anybody now, lest she might turn her back on information.
The next moment, our old acquaintance, Bart Burt, who, having conveyed the ladies to their destination, had sped back to the battle-field in time to participate in the last part of the final action, was seen stealthily creeping round the point of the ledge, from which the fatal shot had issued, and approaching the leader of the concealed assailants, who, as the reader may have already anticipated, was no other than Captain Woodburn.
I'd just as soon put my money in the stove as put it in a mining scheme. There's two things I never do, young lady, and that's speculate and go on people's notes." "But, Mr. Burt," she begged hopelessly, "If you'd only make an exception just this once. Go to him see for yourself that all he needs is a helping hand across this one hard place." "I got on without any helping hands.
I am the niece of Mr. Burt daughter of his brother Jonathan, deceased," replied Mrs. Dinks. "Oh!" said Mrs. Newt, dolefully. "Not a very near relation," added Mrs. Dagon. "Grand-nephews don't count." That might be true, but it was thin consolation for Mrs. Newt, who began to take fire. "But, Mrs. Dinks, how did this affair come about?" asked she.
He did not raise his hat, extend a hand, or evince the slightest interest by any lighting of the eye. With his arm thrown across his saddle he waited for her to begin, to state her business and be gone. The broad backs of ten thousand cattle glistened in the sun as they fed inside the John Burt ranch, but owing to his seedy appearance their owner was frequently mistaken for his own hired man.
And Christopher Burt, in a fine wrath, seated himself by the table, and wiped his forehead. Abel stood patiently and meekly under this gust of fury, and when it was ended, and Mr. Burt was a little composed, he began quietly, as if the indignation were the most natural thing in the world: "No, Sir; it is not a subscription paper "
His ruddy face turned purple, then black; he rose in his seat; he gave vent to smothered gasps; then he straightened up and clutched his hands into his knees. Burt scored his run on a hit to deep short, an infielder's choice, with the chances against retiring a runner at the plate. Philadelphia could not tally again that inning. New York blanked in the first of the next.
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