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Nevertheless, it was just such men as Hurd who tended to keep the Church of the eighteenth century in its apathetic state. Hurd was a religious-minded man; but his religion was characterised by a cold, prim propriety which was not calculated to commend it to men at large.

There isn't a stick of wood in that building from cellar to attic." "And the cars, are they fireproof, too?" John M. Hurd looked up sharply. "No," he said slowly. "No, I don't suppose they are. . . . Still, there's nothing to set the cars afire. They're safe enough in that building. Nothing can happen to them there."

"I wouldn't be aboard of you for my share of the Southern trip and mackerel away up in G, too. Would you, Billie?" "Then? Naw!" said Hurd, with a wrinkling of his little nose. "No, nor me neither," said Long Steve. "Hi ever hear the cook ever hear George Moore's song:

Failing in his attempt at Edial, he was disposed once more to engage in the drudgery of an usher, and offered himself in that capacity to the Rev. William Budworth, master of the grammar-school at Brewood, in Staffordshire, celebrated for having been the place in which Bishop Hurd received his education, under that master.

"But how did Jessop get the brooch?" "Ah, that I can't tell you, unless Norman himself picked it up in the street. We must find these things out. I'm going to Christchurch to make inquiries. I'll let you know what I discover," and Hurd rose. "One minute," said Paul, hastily. "Do you think Miss Krill is the dead man's child?" "Of course. She's as like her mother as two peas. Why do you ask?"

I'll 'ave the lawr of you." "I'll attend to that, my lad," said Hurd, dryly. "Now, then, where did you get that brooch?" "Sha'n't tell," snapped the boy, and put his tongue out. Hurd gave him a smack with an open hand on the side of his face, and Master Clump began to blubber. "Assalting me oh, won't you ketch it," he raged in his puny wrath.

Jellison's mouth twitched, and she threw a sly provocative glance at old Patton, as though she would have liked to poke him in the ribs. But she was not going to help him out; and at last the one male in the company found himself obliged to clear his throat for reply. "We're old folks, most on us, miss, 'cept Mrs. Hurd. We don't hear talk o' things now like as we did when we were younger.

There's an inscription on the portrait 'From Grexon to Maud with much love' sweet, isn't it? when you think what an icicle the man is. There is also a date two years ago the photograph was given. I admired the photograph and asked the landlady who was the swell." "What's the landlady's name?" "Matilda Junk." Hurd almost jumped from his seat.

She little thought when doing so that she was weaving a rope for her own neck. Hurd had brought a plain-clothes policeman with him, and this man remained outside in a hansom while Hurd rang the bell. In a few minutes the door was opened and the detective sent up his card. Mrs.

He's in the highest of spirits, and says that the mere rumor that he is going to marry into the Hurd family will establish a line of credit good enough to last ten years." "But really isn't the young man a bit mercurial?" "Oh, awfully! To tell the truth, I was a little surprised when Isabel took him, for under her society manner she's very sensible and self-controlled.