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Something in those misty brown eyes, something in the warm, deep voice of the older woman, in the prayer-like form of the wish, sank deep into her consciousness. She turned to her husband, who was chatting with Fosdick, a large, heavy man with a Dr. Johnson head on massive shoulders. One fat hand leaned heavily on a fat club, for Fosdick was slightly lame and rolled in his gait.
"Hear him talk!" said Roswell Crawford, with an unpleasant sneer. "If you are not trying to get the place, what are you here for?" "I came with a friend of mine," said Dick, indicating Fosdick, "who's goin' in for the situation." "Is he a boot-black, too?" demanded Roswell, superciliously. "He!" retorted Dick, loftily.
"The fullest activity, the largest experience, the most complete presentation of personality," etc. Or as Fosdick railed, "Suck all and spit out what you don't like!"
I may explain here that Dick, and Fosdick also, had several times danced the Lancers in the parlor at the boarding-house in the evening, so that they felt reasonably confident of getting through respectably. Still his new friend's proposal made Dick feel a little nervous.
Hunter, but ladies, you know, are privileged to be curious." "I don't mind telling," said Dick, helping himself to a piece of toast. "I'm talking of buying some lots up-town, and went up with a friend to look at them." Fosdick looked at Dick, inquiringly, not knowing if he were in earnest or not. "Indeed!" said Mr. Clifton. "May I inquire where the lots are situated?"
The next morning, in accordance with the suggestion of Fosdick, Dick arrayed himself in the long disused Washington coat and Napoleon pants, which he had carefully preserved, for what reason he could hardly explain. When fairly equipped, Dick surveyed himself in the mirror, if the little seven-by-nine-inch looking-glass, with which the room was furnished, deserved the name.
He knew that he could describe plenty of adventures, which of course always come thick and fast to the men in the Army Flying Squadron, even during times of piping peace. When Lieutenant Denmead came back from his trip and heard that his old friend had been in the vicinity, he declared himself very much disappointed not to have had a chance to see Fosdick again.
Then he opened a drawer in his desk and took out a box of cigars similar to those he had offered the Honorable Fletcher Fosdick on the occasion of their memorable interview. "Smoke, Al?" he asked.
I wouldn't take a cent of your money, Mr. Fosdick. But I I want Madeline and and I shall have her." "In spite of her parents, eh?" "Yes. . . . I'm sorry to speak so, Mr. Fosdick, but it is true. We we love each other. We we've agreed to wait for each other, no matter no matter if it is years and years.
"I appeal to my friend Fosdick." "Did I say so, Mr. Fosdick?" Fosdick smiled. "You mustn't appeal to me, Miss Peyton. You and Mr. Hunter are so brilliant that I don't pretend to understand you." "Then you won't tell me what Mr. Clifton said. It is too bad. I shan't sleep to-night for thinking of it." "Suppose you ask Mr. Clifton." "I don't know but I will."
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