United States or Argentina ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Sweeping the bundled bills into the portmanteau, and then locking up the great wallet of cheques, Randall Clayton absently shook hands with the fidgety old accountant, now eager for his leave. "Must catch my train. Take care of yourself," was Somers' hearty adieu, as he vanished with his ten-year-old umbrella in hand.
It was her sweet smile at a painstaking child that betrayed her if, indeed, betrayal it might be called where there was no wish or effort to conceal anything. Canon Livingstone left the schoolroom almost directly, and, after being for an hour or so in his house, went out to call on Mrs. Randall, the person who knew more of her neighbours' affairs than any one in East Chester.
The hardest part of it all for Marjorie was her basketball practice. It was dreadful to be on speaking terms with only one girl on the team, Harriet Delaney, and she was not overly cordial. Marjorie tried to remember that Miss Randall had appointed her to her position, that the right to play was hers; but the unfriendly players made her nervous, and she lost her usual snap and daring.
Randall Clayton, the cashier and personal representative of the absent "head," who rarely left his Detroit home to interfere with the well-oiled movements of the "New York end." But daily, rain or shine, Mr. Randall Clayton himself took his way to the bank to deposit the funds to meet their never-ceasing outflow of Western exchange.
Thursday, May 10th, was the last day of this discussion in the House. Mr. Randall first took the floor and spoke in opposition to the joint resolution. To the friends of the measure he said: "It is intended to secure what you most wish: an entire disagreement to the whole scheme by the eleven Southern States, and a continued omission of representation on this floor." Mr.
"You look stunned, Janet. Did you really think I wanted to marry Randall?" Janet was stunned, and she did think that. How could any girl not want to marry Randall Burnley if she had the chance? "Don't you love him?" she asked stupidly. Avery bit into a nut-sweet apple. "No," she said frankly. "Oh, I don't hate him, of course. I like him well enough. I like him very well.
The mystery of Randall Clayton's murder had passed into a worn-out sensation, and new crimes, new names, new faces, filled the flaring journals. The firm hand of Witherspoon was at the helm of the Trading Company, and even Adolph Lilienthal had forgotten his fears. The Clayton affair had been all threshed out!
His habitual manner was so mild and unassuming that it gave little indication of the force of his personality, which was full of energy and perseverance. Randall was more imperious in his mien. He was a party leader of established renown which he had gained in the struggles over force bills at the close of the reconstruction period.
"Your husband is all alone," she remarked, turning to her visitor. "Suppose we go and sit with him for a while. I have some sewing to do, and it will be much nicer out there than in the house." Mr. Randall smiled as the women came and sat down by his side. He was pleased to see his wife looking better than she had for years.
Holmes examined both it and the indescribable wreck which it had wrought. 'He must be a powerful man, this elder Randall, he remarked. 'Yes, said Hopkins. 'I have some record of the fellow, and he is a rough customer. 'You should have no difficulty in getting him. 'Not the slightest. We have been on the look-out for him, and there was some idea that he had got away to America.
Word Of The Day