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"Murph must bring up your trunk," said Ann, opening the closet. "But there is no space to hang anything; the great Mogul's wardrobe stops the way." My chamber was stately in size and appointments.
He kept aloof, his sea-blue eyes gazing out at the flat Illinois prairie. All about him swept and eddied the currents and counter-currents of talk. "They say there's a swell supper in the Tower Building for fifty cents." "Fifty nothing. Get all you want in the Library canteen for nix." "Where's this dance, huh?" "Search me." "Heh, Murph! I'll shoot you a game of pool at the club."
Well, they were doing fine, getting used to the dry country and beginning to get over being homesick, when one night Murph went up there and played them the Arkansaw Traveler. "Well, of course that was the come-on Old Spud stopped his story and finally one lady bit. "'Yes, but how did you lose your fortune? she asks and Spud he shakes his head. "'By playing that tune, he says.
"Of course; but stir up Adelaide, she is genuine; has fine sense, and half despises her life; but she knows no other, and is proud." "Let's go and find tea," she said, yawning, dropping her book. "Why don't that lazy Murph light the lamp? I wish pa was down to regulate affairs." No one was at the tea-table but Mrs. Somers.
He spat into the storm and added grimly, "An' how ye're to git the shled around a three-fut tree, I dunno." "Sure takes you to think up bad luck, Murph," Hank retorted. "We ain't struck any down timber so fur." "An' ye ain't there yet, neither not be four mile ye ain't." Mrs.
A kid c'ud tell ye what he carries the young cannon for, an' why he wears it so low on his hip. Ye've nivver seen him up close, eh Murph'? Well, I'm askin' him down so's ye can have a good look at him." He stepped back from the boulder and waved a hand at Trevison, shouting: "Make it a real visit, bhoy!"
While the two men were pulling on the gloves, Gerald managed a word apart with the trainer. "Can you do him, Murph?" he whispered. "Sure!" said the handler. "Them kind's always as slow as dray-horses. They gets muscle-bound." "Give it to him," said Gerald, "but don't kill him. He's a friend of mine."
Banker sidled into the upstairs room and made his way to the end of the bar, where he called huskily for whisky. Having gulped a couple of fiery drinks, he shivered and straightened up, his evil eyes losing their look of fright. "Say, Murph," he whispered, hoarsely. "They's the devil to pay!" "How come?" asked Murphy, yawning. "You remember French Pete, who was killed back in nineteen hundred?"
He waved a hand to Carson as he flashed by, and something in his manner caused Carson to remark to the engineer of the dinky engine: "Somethin's up wid Trevison ag'in, Murph he's got a domned mean look in his eye. I'm the onluckiest son-av-a-gun in the worruld, Murph!
Patrick Carson, the personage construction boss, good-natured, keen, observant was leaning against a boulder at the side of the track, talking to the engineer at the instant Trevison appeared at the top of the cut. He glanced up, his eyes lighting. "There's thot mon, Trevison, ag'in, Murph'," he said to the engineer. "Bedad, he's a pitcher now, ain't he?"
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