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A wind had got up, and one of last year's oak leaves which had somehow survived the gardener's brooms, was dragging itself with a tiny clicking rustle along the stone terrace in the twilight. Except for that it was very quiet out there, and he could smell the heliotrope watered not long since. A bat went by. A bird uttered its last 'cheep. And right above the oak tree the first star shone.
She sat up very straight now and narrowed her eyes just a trifle stubbornly toward the Traveling Salesman's very visible astonishment. "And what's more," she continued, clicking at her watch-case again "and what's more, I'm on my way now to meet the consequences of said indiscreet letter." "Alone?" gasped the Traveling Salesman.
"The difference between theory and practice, thinking and being," put in Mr Benson, who was in a mood for allowing himself a little social enjoyment. He leant back in his chair, with his eyes looking at, but not seeing the ceiling. Miss Benson was clicking away with her eternal knitting-needles, looking at her brother, and seeing him, too. Ruth was arranging her child's clothes against the morrow.
"I'm going to see, anyway," she answered. In the station she found Joe Follansbee in his little office. The telegraphic sounder was clicking away, with queer sudden interruptions, in the manner that is so mysterious to the uninitiated. "Are you busy, Joe?" she asked him, graciously. "Sure thing!" answered the young fellow, grinning pleasantly. "There's the usual stuff.
The women past child-bearing were singing all the time, while the men danced outside the leaf-smoke, clicking boomerangs as they did so. For some time this went on, then the men took the boys back into the scrub. In about four moons' time another leaf-smoke was made ready, and the Boorahbayyi were again brought out and smoked.
"Not a bit of it," said Austin hastily, as he swung himself out of the room. "I shall be back in time for dinner." "He certainly is the very oddest boy," soliloquised Aunt Charlotte, as she settled herself comfortably on the sofa and went on clicking her knitting-needles. "Why he dislikes the MacTavishes so I can't imagine; nice, cheerful young persons as anyone would wish to see.
"This goddam armistice sure does take the ambition out of a feller," he said. "Hell of a note," said the red-haired sergeant. "D'you know that they had my name in for an O.T.C.? Hell of a note goin' home without a Sam Browne." The other man came back and sank down into his chair in front of the typewriter again. The slow, jerky clicking recommenced.
As Alice and Ruth came into the big studio, where a battery of cameras were clicking away, the two girls became aware of the looks cast at them by those not actually engaged in some scene. And, while most of the looks were friendly, those from two of the players were not. Miss Pennington and Miss Dixon, standing together at one side of a section of a log cabin, whispered to each other. "Ah, Mr.
When even that was gone, she turned from the window, and stood for a long minute with her hands pressed tightly over her face. She was trying to think, but instead she found herself listening intently to the monotonous "Ah-h-CHUCK! ah-h-CHUCK!" of the steam pump down the track, and to the spasmodic clicking of an order from the dispatcher to the passenger train two stations to the west.
When he came to himself again a machine was clicking erratically and there was the soft whine of machinery going somewhere. He opened his eyes and saw red all about him. He stirred, and he was free. Painfully, he sat up and blinked about him with streaming, gas-irritated eyes. He had been lying on a couch. He was in a room perhaps fifteen feet by twenty, of which the floor was slightly off-level.
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