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"Know anybody by the name of Marquand in this country?" he asked, taking another tack. Juan said he did not, and then Tad gave up his questioning. "I was asking Juan about the two men who sat ahead of us in the train yesterday," he explained to Chunky, as the fat boy joined them. "Wha'd he say?" "One is named Lasar, but he did not know the other one.
"I'd like a few moments to speak with you in private, if you can spare the time," said Tad in a low voice, at the first opportunity. "At your service now, sir." "No; not here." "Then come to my room at the hotel. I'll fix it with the others," said Mr. Marquand, observing at once that the lad had some serious purpose in mind. "My friend Chunky will go with me, if agreeable to you?"
Hello, here comes the gentleman who gave me the advice that helped me to win those handsome spurs. He's introducing himself to the Professor and Mr. Kringle. Let's go over." Forgetting for the moment the subject they were discussing, Tad and Stacy strolled over to the camp-fire. "O Tad, this is Mr. Marquand, Mr. James Marquand from Albuquerque. He wants to know you.
In a city where thousands and thousands of women were now organising relief work for the troops already in the field, Ailsa Paige had been among the earliest to respond to the call for a meeting at the Church of the Puritans. Here she had left her name for enrolment with Mrs. Gerard Stuyvesant. Later, with Mrs. Marquand, Mrs. Aspinwall, Mrs. Astor, and Mrs.
Here in Brooklyn a host of young-men have found a moral shelter, and many of them a spiritual birthplace, in the fine structure, reared largely from the munificent bequests of that princely Christian philanthropist, the late Mr. Frederick Marquand.
Comstock had just made an attempt to draw his own weapon when Marquand threw himself upon the man. The two went crashing to the floor, while Tad and Lasar were battling all over the room, the latter's weapon barking viciously every little while.
So you thought to hoodwink me to get the secret of the treasure and then put me out of the way, eh? That was your game, was it? Well, it's all off now. I'll have nothing further to do with you." "Why why, Mr. Marquand, it's all a mistake!" began one of the pair. "Perhaps you'll deny having plotted against me on a train on your way to Bluewater." "I deny ever having tried to put up a game on "
Marquand, starting up the stairs. "I reckon there's a window on the second floor, but you'd better be careful that you don't get winged," warned the guide. Mr. Marquand went right on, and the others followed. As the guide had said there was a small window on the floor above the ground, apparently the only one in the house. Mr. Marquand hailed the besiegers.
Marquand, pushing his way between the men and the window, at the imminent risk of getting a bullet in his back from either Lasar or Comstock. "Let 'em go. They'll be running for home about this time. They are a couple of scoundrels, sir." "But the damage. Look at my fine room." "I'll pay for the damage, and I'll quit your hotel now. I've had enough of the place," retorted Mr.
"That's all right. Professor, if you have no objection I should like to have these two young men go to my quarters with me for a little while. "Certainly. Don't stay out too late, boys." "No, sir." "Wonder what they've got up their sleeves?" muttered Ned, watching the receding figures of his two companions and Mr. Marquand. "You may talk," smiled the latter after they were well started.
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