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He sat in the head office of the company at Franklin and said "Let this be done," and, in every suburban town where the Interurban had offices, that thing was done, under pain of dismissal from the service of the company. Even Flannery, who was born rebellious, would scratch his red hair in the Westcoate office and grumble and then follow orders.
We are writing her from this office, but in case she does not call for it immediately, you will keep it carefully in your office. You had better have a veterinary look at the cat. Feed it regularly." Mike Flannery folded the letter slowly and looked down at the cat. "Feed it!" he exclaimed.
He had four thousand and sixty-four guinea-pigs to care for! More were arriving daily. Immediately following its authorization the Audit Department sent another letter, but Flannery was too busy to open it. They wrote another and then they telegraphed: "Error in guinea-pig bill. Collect for two guinea-pigs, fifty cents. Deliver all to consignee." Flannery read the telegram and cheered up.
"Oisin" was not given, but the word "oisanite" was, and the meaning of that the code stated to be "five hundred head prime steers." It was enough. The Interurban did not wish to accept the transportation of five hundred extremely ill steers, whose death was imminent. "Westcote, refuse consignment absolutely. Write particulars," he wired. Flannery showed the telegram to Mr.
"Bad case, too." "A veterinary can cure that," Fred declared, speaking more airily than his feelings warranted. "Hm!" replied Flannery dryly. "You find the veterinary, Master Fred, and I'll show the gentleman how to make his fortune if he can cure wind-broken horses." "Then what good is the pony?" demanded Fred in exasperation.
All orders were given under penalty of dismissal, and Flannery had so many rules and regulations under his red hair that each day he wondered whether he would still be the Westcote agent at the end of the next. As he read his forehead wrinkled. "'Gineral Order Number Sivin Hundred an' noineteen," he read slowly.
"And would be ye makin' poor Mike Flannery pay good money for thim rascal fleas he kilt, and him with his ankles so bit up they look like the small-pox, to say nothin' of other folks which is th' same?" she cried. "'Tis ashamed ye should be, Mister Professor, bringin' fleas into America and lettin' them run loose!
A long narrow margin of another painting was now visible where the frame was broken away; it seemed as if the flower-piece had been painted over some other subject, as if Sophia Flannery had not even been at the pains to take the canvas out, and had only carried her daub up to the edge of the frame.
Then he wrote a long and fervid letter to the president of the Interurban, in which he gave his opinion of the simplified spelling, and particularly of a man who would interpolate it into business by the power of his personal fiat. And Flannery wrote too.
There was many more where they come from, for I could see the book was full of 'em; and when she saw my eyes on them, she takes out another, and gives it me, with, `There's one for thee, and good luck to 'ee; take that, and buy a fairing for thy sweetheart, Tom Janaway, and never say Sophy Flannery forgot an old friend.
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