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Dorothy looked at Harlan, undecided whether to laugh or to cry. "Poor little woman," he said, softly; "don't you fret. We'll have them out of the house no later than to-morrow." "All of them?" asked Dorothy, eagerly, as Miss St. Clair strolled into the front yard. Harlan's brow clouded and he shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.
"You could brag some about a political safe-blowing, but we all have to turn to and hush up this sneak-thief work." Harlan, walking on, wondered whether the coup that was then in process of elaboration in State Committee headquarters would not be considered by Everett and his supporters as arising to the proper dignity of political crime. To his surprise Spinney's rooms were practically deserted.
And, dwelling, with his friends, upon the irritating fact that Harlan had come among them to usurp authority to which he had no visible claim, he had succeeded in working his rage to a frenzy that took little account of consequences. Yet Latimer would not have been able to reach that frenzy had he not been convinced that he was Harlan's master with the six-shooter.
He raised his voice, shouting for the man. And Harlan saw Woodward come from behind an outbuilding, look toward the ranchhouse, and then walk slowly toward them. Woodward halted when within several paces of the two, and looked from one to the other curiously, his eyes narrowed with speculation.
His argument seemed routed. "Of course that's true," he agreed. Mr. Harlan came of a race whose revolutionary notions expired apologetically before the first platitude to cross their path. "We must always bear in mind that women are capable of sacrifice; that women ..." The lavender stocking was withdrawing itself and Mr.
When he at last spoke again his voice was so weak that Harlan had to kneel and lean close to him to hear the low-spoken words that issued from between his quavering lips: "Harlan you're white; you've got to be white to Barbara! That paper I was tryin' to stuff into my gun when you come around the rock. You take it. It'll tell you where the gold is.
There was Tom Miller, the minister's son, who intended to be a minister himself, and Jimmy Jackson, the shoemaker's boy, as full of fun and playfulness as a kitten, and poor Will Sampson, who stammered, and Harry Wilson, the son of a wealthy banker, and a brave boy too, and John Harlan, the widow's son, pale and slender, the pet of all, and great, stout Hans Schlegal, who bade fair to be a great scholar.
The idea seemed to amuse him, for he laughed again. "You seem to forget, Miss Harlan, that instead of profits you might lose it all." "That would be impossible. I have too much confidence in your judgment to fear any such result," I answered sweetly, led away by the eagerness I felt to obtain his consent to the project.
Lincoln to follow him in any public policy, and while somewhat distrustful of Johnson was undoubtedly gratified and re-assured by the tone of his speeches. Mr. Harlan was not hasty in judgment but thoughtful and reflective, and aimed always to be just in his conclusions. William Dennison of Ohio was Postmaster-General.
Just so long as our party, the dominant political power, uses that option, it is in disgrace with all decent men. There was a knock at the door the private door. Harlan started up, but his grandfather pulled him back into his chair. "Go on, General," he said. "I have drawn a resolution.
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