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"He was only to be gone a moment," and while he went on to talk with Dryfoos, he wondered why the old man should have come first to speak with him, and whether it was from some obscure wish to make him reparation for displeasures in the past, or from a distrust or dislike of Fulkerson. Whichever light he looked at it in, it was flattering. "Do you think of going abroad soon?" he asked. "What?
I wonder I ever forgot it. But it shows what a shaky thing the human mind is at its best." "You infamous mountebank!", said March, with great amusement at Fulkerson's access; "you call that congeries of advertising instinct of yours the human mind at its best? Come, don't be so diffident, Fulkerson. Well, I'm off to find Lindau, and when I come back I hope Mr. Dryfoos will have you under control.
Idt wass a year or dwo pefore the war proke oudt, anyway." "Those were exciting times," said Dryfoos, making his first entry into the general talk. "I went down to Indianapolis with the first company from our place, and I saw the red-shirts pouring in everywhere. They had a song, "Oh, never mind the weather, but git over double trouble, For we're bound for the land of Canaan."
As he put out his hand to Christine, she pushed it aside with a scream of rage; she flashed at him, and with both hands made a feline pass at the face he bent toward her. He sprang back, and after an instant of stupefaction he pulled open the door behind him and ran out into the street. "Well, Christine Dryfoos!" said Mela, "Sprang at him like a wild-cat!" "I, don't care," Christine shrieked.
Dryfoos's the other day. Have you seen them, any of them, lately?" "I haven't been there for some time, no," said Beaton, evasively. But he thought if he was to get on to anything, he had better be candid. "Mr. Dryfoos was at my studio this morning. He's got a queer notion. He wants me to paint his son's portrait." She started. "And will you " "No, I couldn't do such a thing. It isn't in my way.
Dryfoos was an old Pennsylvania Dutch farmer, about three or four miles out of Moffitt, and he'd lived there pretty much all his life; father was one of the first settlers. Everybody knew he had the right stuff in him, but he was slower than molasses in January, like those Pennsylvania Dutch.
"He thought he might come"; and at the mention of this light spirit Mrs. Dryfoos sank contentedly back in her chair, and a relaxation of their painful tension seemed to pass through the whole company. "Ah, how dye do, Conrad? Brought our friend, Mr.
The course of public events carried Beaton's private affairs beyond the reach of his simple first intention to renounce his connection with 'Every Other Week. In fact, this was not perhaps so simple as it seemed, and long before it could be put in effect it appeared still simpler to do nothing about the matter to remain passive and leave the initiative to Dryfoos, to maintain the dignity of unconsciousness and let recognition of any change in the situation come from those who had caused the change.
He strummed it, and murmured the tune Dryfoos had heard him singing from the library, while he kept his beautiful eyes floating on Christine's. "You try that, now; it's very simple." "Where is Mrs. Mandel?" Dryfoos demanded, trying to assert himself. Neither of the girls seemed to have heard him at first in the chatter they broke into over what Beaton proposed.
After all, he didn't give any reason he had for accepting. But perhaps the young lady had the reason." "Pshaw, March!" said Fulkerson. So far as the Dryfoos family was concerned, the dinner might as well have been given at Frescobaldi's rooms. None of the ladies appeared. Mrs.
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