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He never hesitated to allow himself any indulgence which would not interfere with business. He had one ambition in life to marry Miss Mercer and get a share in the house. Miss Mercer was as ugly as a millionaire's tombstone. Mr.
We have advanced, but we have still far to go. Socrates and More and Rousseau and Pestalozzi and Froebel and Armstrong have done much, but they have left abundant room for their successors. The millionaire's child, as well as the field-hand's, must wait awhile yet. So it is small wonder if the Southern public school is still a challenge to the best wits.
"If you have money enough, there will be no trouble about that." "Oh, I have money." She spoke like a millionaire's daughter. "Shall we go to Arnold's?" As I always traded at Arnold's, I readily acquiesced, and we left the house. But not before she had tied a very thick veil over her face. "If we meet any one, do not introduce me," she begged. "I cannot talk to people."
Suddenly the girl uttered a piercing cry of joy: "It is Vincent! It is! It is!" And she was right. A moment later, as they dragged the all but senseless form from the seaplane, they recognized him at once as the millionaire's son. He had drifted in the benumbing water so long that had they been delayed for another hour they would have found nothing more than a corpse awaiting them.
The Duke told him all that he could remember about the millionaire's servants and, under the clever questioning of the detective, he was surprised to find how much he did remember all kinds of odd details about them which he had scarcely been aware of observing.
The servant girl, or factory operative, or even prostitute of today may be the chorus girl or moving picture vampire of tomorrow and the millionaire's wife of next year. In America, especially, men have no settled antipathy to such stooping alliances; in fact, it rather flatters their vanity to play Prince Charming to Cinderella.
"Hold on!" The Millionaire's hand was in his pocket now. His fingers were on a gold piece, and his eyes in fancy were on a glorious riot of Jacqueminots that filled the little room to overflowing, and brought a wondrous light to three pairs of unbelieving eyes then Mike remembered. "Here," he said a little huskily, "let me help."
"No," returned the Italian, "I do it." But a look of surprise crossed his face. What had come over the millionaire's son? Percy spent the rest of the forenoon on the ledges. At noon he came back to the cabin. He had steeled himself for the task before him, and he was not the fellow to do things half-way. The John P. Whittington in him was coming out.
Theodore Racksole had met with the usual millionaire's luck in this adventure, for Mr Babylon made a practice of not allowing himself to be interviewed by his guests, however distinguished, however wealthy, however pertinacious.
The Helen Mar carried no guano, and charged freightage accordingly for being clean. Drygoods she'd brought out from New York, linens, cottons, tinware, shoes, and an outfit of furniture for a Chilian millionaire's house, including a half-dozen baby carriages, and a consignment of silk stockings and patent medicines.
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