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"If we were going anywhere but to Dunning's," said my uncle, as we turned out of Greenwich street, "I should have no fear of being recognised by the servants; for no one here thinks of keeping a man six months.
If I hadn't fell in with you as I did, it was my notion to take Lightfoot here, or at Dunning's, and then go back and skulk there somewheres till you was ready to come; but finding you and things all coming so handy like, when we got to where the road turned off, I thought I'd let you follow me into it, if you would, and say nothing till we got here."
Dunning, disguised as far as might be, was to have no label or initials on any hand luggage, and must at all costs have the paper with him. Dunning's suspense as he waited on the Croydon platform I need not attempt to describe.
Also McPherson's History of Reconstruction, Dunning's United Stales Constitution in Civil War and in Reconstruction, and W.E. Foster's References on the United States Constitution in Civil War, about to be published . Party Machinery and National Conventions. See especially Bryce's American Commonwealth, and Ostrogorski's Organisation des parties politiques aux Etats-Unis.
The store building is still pointed out as the former shop of Marion Sinclair, where George McCloud boarded when the Crawling Stone Line was built, where Whispering Smith might often have been seen, where Sinclair himself was last seen alive in Medicine Bend, where Dicksie Dunning's horse dragged her senseless one wild mountain night, and where, indeed, for a time the affairs of the whole mountain division seemed to tangle in very hard knots.
"You don't see that one reason why Miss Dunning's line sounds better than yours is owing to the differences in your voices. If she will repeat the chorus, finishing with her line, you will see the difference." "Miss Dunning, take the note-book," begged Whispering Smith. "And rise, of course," suggested McCloud. "Oh, the note-book! I shall be afraid to hold it. Where are the verses, Mr. Smith?
I question if my own mother could have known me, had she lived long enough to see the whiskers sprout on my cheeks, and to contemplate my countenance as a man. I went into Dunning's library, drew the little hurdy-gurdy from its hiding-place, slung it, and began to play St. Patrick's Day in the Morning, with spirit, and, I trust I may add, with execution.
Not a bad fellow, either; he can talk pretty straight and shoot pretty straight. How do I know? Because he has told me the story and I've seen him shoot. There, you see, is one friend that you never reckoned on. He used to be a cowboy, and I got him a job working for Sinclair on the Frenchman; he has worked at Dunning's and other places on the Crawling Stone.
Mr Dunning's interest in the matter was kept alive by an incident of the following afternoon. He was walking from his club to the train, and he noticed some way ahead a man with a handful of leaflets such as are distributed to passers-by by agents of enterprising firms.
And Dunning's six recruits luckily arriving in season, the whole company, now consisting of ten resolute woodsmen, and led on by a man fully resolved to succeed or perish, set forward, a little after sunset, for the scene of action, which was several miles distant from the tavern.
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