United States or Cyprus ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Still another leader was "Gen. John Scott," already mentioned, the slave of Mr. Greenhow, hired by Mr. McCrea.
Several days elapsed before Captain Lee and Lieutenants McCrea and Graham felt it entirely prudent to leave, but when they did it was with the assurance that stockholders who had endured to the end, as had Graham, Lee, and McCrea, were now to reap the reward of their tenacity.
"Said he hadn't the least notion what I was driving at," returned Mr. Mayhew, compressing his jaws. "And that was about every blessed word I could get out of him." Jack looked, thoughtfully, in the direction of Doctor McCrea for a few moments, before he broke forth: "Doctor, if I had anything like your chance, I'll wager I'd have Sam Truax talking in short order."
Happy, too, is he, when the storm rages, and the snow is piled high against the windows, if he can sit in the warm chimney- corner and read about Burgoyne, and General Fraser, and Miss McCrea, midwinter marches through the wilderness, surprises of wigwams, and the stirring ballad, say, of the Battle of the Kegs:
Each was emphatic in the belief that the thing did not happen during his watch. Lieutenant McCrea was one of the most positive. "But, Mr. McCrea," urged the "Luzon's" executive officer, "the time, '11.33 P.M., has been lettered on the ship's side with great distinctness." Still, that lieutenant was positive that the outrage hadn't been perpetrated during his deck watch.
Thither they were to go at once, and, valises in hand, they followed Warden's lead, McCrea and their guide talking eagerly together, Geordie following, silent and observant. Toward the iron gateway they pressed, jostled and elbowed by hurrying passengers. "It's but a few blocks' walk," Warden was saying. "I've a cart to take your grips and we can chat as we go.
McCrea had escorted him all the way from Chicago, where John Bonner would have held him for a week of lionizing, but he could not be stopped for an hour. Nolan and Toomey had ridden every mile to the railway to see their young leader aboard, but over the meeting with that yearning mother there was none on earth to spy.
As we stand, on this soft summer day, by the old tree which tradition declares to have witnessed that fateful scene, we go back into a summer long ago, but fair, and just like this. Jane McCrea is no longer a myth, but a young girl, blooming and beautiful with the roses of her seventeen years.
It happened that there was nothing doing in oysters just then; that at Benicia, forty miles away, I had some blankets I wanted to get; and that at Port Costa, several miles from Benicia, a stolen boat lay at anchor in charge of the constable. Now this boat was owned by a friend of mine, by name Dinny McCrea. It had been stolen and left at Port Costa by Whiskey Bob, another friend of mine.
He's one of these slow motioned, quiet talking ginks, with restful ways, such as would fit easy into a swivel chair and hold down a third vice-president's job for life. Or he might be a champion chess player. So when the boss goes on to say how Mr. McCrea is connected with the Washington sleuth bureau I expect I must have gawped at him a bit curious.
Word Of The Day