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Margy, or Margaret, was five years old, and almost as dark as a little Gypsy girl. Margy and Mun Bun usually played together, and they had a great deal of fun. Lest you might think "Mun Bun" was some kind of candy, I will say that it was the pet name of Munroe Ford Bunker, and it was shortened to Mun Bun as the other was too long to say. Mun Bun was rather small, even for his age of four years.
Mae Munroe yawned, extending her arms at full length before her; regarded her fair ringed fingers and the four dimples across the back of each hand; reached for a cigarette and with the wry face of nausea tossed it back into its box; swung to a sitting posture on the side of the sofa, the dog springing from the curve of her arm to the floor, shaking himself.
Think of the beautiful sentiment that governs the sailor's ideal of using it, and then, if you can, think of the blatant political person and the use he puts it to! How it reminds you of Petticoat Lane, and makes you pray that England may be delivered from such disgusting impertinence! Mr Munroe had assumed command, and discussed with his crew the idea of a burial at sea.
Besides Henry Chatillon, Shaw and I were the only hunters in the party. Munroe this morning made an attempt to run a buffalo, but his horse could not come up to the game. Shaw went out with him, and being better mounted soon found himself in the midst of the herd. Seeing nothing but cows and calves around him, he checked his horse.
"I don't know about the warning, but these visitations you talk about are not very canny," responded the mate. "How dare you complain of being reminded of absenting yourself from your duties and stealing poultry and concealing them in a manner that is disgraceful?" sternly replied the captain. "All right," said Munroe in a voice obviously agitated, "say no more about it."
They were consigned to the care of Delorier, who about that time passed by with the cart on his way to the appointed place of meeting with Munroe and his companions. We next urged Tete Rouge to provide himself, if he could, with a gun.
"Hardly, when it's known that he don't quite agree with you, and DOES come here. That's the best denial of the gossip." Christie, who had of late loftily ignored these discussions, waited until her father had taken his departure. "Then that is the reason why you still see Mr. Munroe, after what you said," she remarked quietly to Jessie.
I dare say it's only right; I would lend them the cherub occasionally, and you might let them have Mr. Munroe twice a week." She laughed, but her eyes sought her sister's with a certain watchfulness of expression. Christie shrugged her shoulders, with a suggestion of disgust. "Don't joke. We ought to have thought of all this before."
Proctor, who was too thoroughly inured to such excesses to feel it as sensibly as the remainder of the party, laughed brutally, and, kicking over a chair which stood in his way, grasped his host by the arm, and exclaimed: "Come out of this confounded room; it is as hot as a furnace; and let us have a ride to cool us. Come. Munroe and Cowdon must look after the others.
"Do you know his name?" inquired the detective. "No." "What name do you know him by?" "John Richling." "Wasn't he sent down by Recorder Munroe, last summer, for assault, etc.?" "Yes. I got him out the next day. He never should have been put in." To the Doctor's surprise the detective rose to go. "I'm much obliged to you, Doctor." "Is that all you wanted to ask me?" "Yes, sir." "Mr.
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