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You think it's pride that's holding you back from taking dad's offer and staying here and settling down. But it isn't that at all, Johnny. It's just plain conceit and swell-headedness, and I hate to tell you this, but it's the truth. "That airplane has simply gone to your head and you can't look at anything sensibly any more.
Joe went about shivering in an old coat of Dad's with only one sleeve to it a calf had fancied the other one day that Dad hung it on a post as a mark to go by while ploughing. "My! it'll be a stinger to-night," Dad remarked to Mrs. Brown who sat, cold-looking, on the sofa as he staggered inside with an immense log for the fire. A log! Nearer a whole tree! But wood was nothing in Dad's eyes. Mrs.
I remember I used to sit on dad's doorstep, all those long sleepy summer afternoons, and I'd think, 'Aw, geeeeee, I wisht I had somebody to play with! I always wanted to make-b'lieve Robin Hood, but none of the other kids so many of them were German; they didn't know about Robin Hood; so I used to scout off alone." "If I could only have been there, to be Maid Marian for you!
"Stevens will look after you," she said; "when you are ready come back to Dad's den." His eyes followed to the door her resilient step. Once, when he was a boy, he had seen Ada Rehan play in "As You Like It." Her acting had entranced him. This girl carried him back to that hour. She was boyish as Rosalind, woman in every motion of her slim and lissom body. At the head of the stairway she paused.
"Well, practically. He thinks you're fond of it. He " Slow steps ascending the stairs heavy, painful steps. The two women listened in silence. Every footfall seemed to emphasize Pinky's words. The older woman turned her face toward the sound, her lips parted, her eyes anxious, tender. "How tired he sounds," said Pinky; "and old. And he's only why, dad's only fifty-eight."
All the years all those splendid men, all those faithful women, 'holding hard' against against " He gathered her closer. "My Dad's the last of 'em, Skipper. He's the last 'Wild King. It stops with him. I told him that, and he believes me. Do you believe me, Skipper?" She stopped sobbing and looked up at him for a long moment, her wet eyes solemn, her breath coming in little gasps.
You'd want to get back to all that lovely glassware and beautiful dishes. You'd miss your Manor." "Of course I'd miss the Manor if I was away from it, but I'd love the other, too, I know I would." They had just come in sight of the broad Hudson and Kit stopped short to gaze upon that wide flow of water. "And oh, look at that lovely boat out there! Whose is it?" "That's Dad's motor boat.
What d'you want for Christmas?" "You won't tell if I tell you?" "No." "Not to no one?" "No." "Say, 'Cross me throat." William complied with much interest and stored up the phrase for future use. "Well," she sank her voice very low and spoke into his ear. "Dad's comin' out Christmas Eve!" She leant back and watched him, anxious to see the effect of this stupendous piece of news.
Down next the bottom of her big trunk they lay, just as she had packed them away, with her dad's six-shooter and belt carefully disposed between the leathern folds. She groped with her hands under a couple of riding-skirts and her high, laced boots, got a firm grip on the fringed leather, and dragged them out. She had forgotten all about the gun and belt until they fell with a thump on the floor.
Coming in rather late from his trip to Mansburg, and thinking of some things he and Miss Nestor had talked about, Tom was rather surprised, on reaching the house, to see a light in his father's particular room, where the aged inventor did his reading and his planning of new devices. "Dad's up rather late," said Tom to himself. "I wonder if he's studying over some new machine."
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