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"All newspapers are dangerous in politics; there's none too mean to have its following. The Whig has influence." "It's a one-horse paper," reiterated Shelby. "M-yes; it is a slow coach," Bowers admitted; "but it suits a lot of people. They respect it because it keeps the old name and jogs along in the old gait it had under Volney's father before him.
He's no word-monger; handier with his láthi than his tongue. If you stir him up, he hits out. And I don't blame him. The voluble gentlemen from the South don't realise the inflammable stuff they're playing with " "Perhaps they do," hazarded Roy. "M-yes perhaps. But the one on the electric standard this evening didn't exactly achieve a star turn! You saw him, eh?" He looked very straight at Roy.
"It's dreadful to be willing to have him go!" Bartley went out and met him at his door, bag in hand. "Hollo!" he cried, and made a decent show of surprise and regret. "M-yes!" said the old man, as they went down stairs. "I've made out a visit. But I'm an old fellow, and I ain't easy away from home. I shall tell Mis' Gaylord how you're gettin' along, and she'll be pleased to hear it.
"She seems to be pretty well satisfied here," said her father, one evening when she had gone upstairs with her sleeping baby in her arms. "She seems to be pretty quiet," her mother noncommittally assented. "M-yes," snarled the Squire, and he fell into a long revery, while Mrs.
"You feel doubtful about Father?" "M-yes. I don't quite know why." Broome was silent a moment. "After all it's natural. Put yourself in his place, Roy. He sees India taking a stronger hold of you each year. He knows you've a deal of your mother and grandfather in your make-up. He may very well be afraid of the magnet proving too strong at close quarters. And I suspect he's jealous for England.
"It would killed her if she hadn't got him. I could see 't was wearin' on her every day, more and more. She used to fairly jump, every knock she'd hear at the door; and I know sometimes, when she was afraid he wa' n't coming, she used to go out, in hopes 't she sh'd meet him: I don't suppose she allowed to herself that she did it for that Marcia's proud." "M-yes," said the Squire, "she's proud.
They can make speeches hours long. 'How many are there? 'By the time we ship 'em all over they'll be perhaps a hundred, counting children. An old world in miniature. Can't you see it? 'M-yes; but I've got to pay for it if it's a blow-out, dear man. 'They can sing the old war songs in the streets.
He rasped first one unshaven cheek and then the other, with his thin, quivering hand. "He's smart enough," said Mrs. Gaylord, as before. "M-yes, most too smart," replied her husband, a little more quickly than before. "He's smart enough, even if she wasn't, to see from the start that she was crazy to have him, and that isn't the best way to begin life for a married couple, if I'm a judge."
Samuel Bowers had removed his cigar to let fall a sententious observation. "As long as an all-wise Providence saw fit to dump that sand-bank on one of the Polacks," said he, "I call it a piece of downright Ross Shelby luck that it fell on Kiska." "I should have worked as hard over a dago," rejoined Shelby; "or a dog either, I guess." "M-yes; I reckon.
"M-no!" said the Squire, "he was on his high horse. He knows he aint in any danger now." "Aint you afraid she'll carry on dreadfully, when she finds out 't he's gone for good?" asked Mrs. Gaylord, with a sort of implied satisfaction that the carrying on was not to affect her. "M-yes," said the Squire, "I suppose she'll carry on. But I don't know what to do about it.