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Don't scold me, Ban. I was dead for want of sleep and I couldn't get it in the lodge. It's haunted, I tell you, with unpeaceful spirits. So I remembered this hammock." "I'm not going to scold you. I'm going to feed you. The coffee's on." "How good!" she cried, getting to her feet. "Am I a sight? I feel frowsy." "There's a couple of buckets of water up in my room.
He pulled his chair to the breakfast-table. "It seems to me that girl's imagination always fails her on Mondays. Can she never give us anything but hash and corn-bread when she's going to wash? However, the coffee's good. I suppose you made it?" "Bartley!" persisted Marcia, "I want to believe in everything you do, I want to be proud of it "
After all, there was no fire to be playing with. The coldness of being absolutely alone again chilled through her whole body, and she shivered. "Now," said Traill everything was ready at his hand. "The making of coffee's the simplest thing in the whole world; that's why everybody finds it so deucedly difficult. We'll put this kettle on first."
"I'd like to know what makes you so high and mighty all of a sudden," said Grandmother. "Coffee's just like tea as long as colour comes into it when it's boiled, it's good. My mother always used the same grounds for a week for a family of eight, and she didn't hear no complaints, neither. You ain't boiled this long enough that's what's the matter."
Steps approached with several pauses, and at last they paused at Lemuel's door, and a man outside stooped and pushed in, through the opening at the bottom, a big bowl of baked beans, a quarter of a loaf of bread, and a tin cup full of coffee. "Coffee's extra," he said jocosely. "Comes from the officers. You're in luck, young feller." "I ha'n't got anything to pay for it with," faltered Lemuel.
It was only a straw, but straws are significant when the wind is blowing from a threatening quarter. Once again Lidgerwood remembered McCloskey's proposal, and his own reluctant assent to it, and now he was not too greatly conscience-stricken when he saw Judson quietly working his way through the crowded room to a point of espial upon the group in the corner. "Your coffee's getting cold, Mr.
Just "tea and cakes" developed into ices and sherbets and bonbons. Horatio would not permit punch or any form of alcoholic refreshment. After a convivial youth he had become rigidly temperance. "Tea and coffee's enough," he said. "You might tell your friends where they come from help on the business."
"But no girl fails to examine the possibility of every man she meets married or single and the girl you think the most matter-of-fact is the one who most often slips out of bed, sits by her window, and looks at the moon." "Do you want to get married?" "There, you're not merely surprised, you're shocked at the idea. Of course I do. Look now the coffee's running down into the bottom thing.
"For heaven's sake, Wrinkles, tackle that table! Don't sit there like a music box," said Pennoyer, grappling the eggs and starting for the gas stove. Later, as they sat around the board, Wrinkles said with satisfaction, "Well, the coffee's good, anyhow." "'Tis good," said Florinda, "but it isn't made right. I'll show you how, Penny. You first " "Oh, dry up, Splutter," said Grief.
But I'm no thief," retorted Neale. "Shut up, will you?" shouted Coffee, who plainly did not take kindly to that epithet before the gathering crowd. "I'm no thief ... Men get shot out here for saying less than that." Neale laughed. He read Coffee's mind. That worthy, responding to the wildness of the time and place, meant to cover his tracks one way or another.
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