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I had no objection in the world to any one knowing my opinion of Mis' Postmaster Sykes's proceeding, "one of her preposterousnesses," Calliope called it, and I said so, and set off for Mrs. Ricker's, while Calliope herself flew somewhere else on some last mission. And, "Mis' Sykes'd ought to be showed," she called to me over-shoulder. "That woman's got a sinful pride.
He heard of something of the sort being done in Ricker's presence, and of Ricker's saying that in any question of honor and veracity between Witherby and Hubbard he should decide for Hubbard.
He was presently aware of being so tired that he could scarcely pull one leg after another; and yet he felt hopelessly wide awake. It was in simple despair of anything else to do that he climbed the stairs to Ricker's lofty perch in the Chronicle-Abstract office.
In the preparation for the two events, the one unconcerned and unconsulted appeared to be the débutante herself. We never said "Emerel's party"; we all said "Mis' Ricker's party." We knew that Mrs. Ricker and Kitton was putting painstaking care on Emerel's coming-out dress, which was to be a surprise, but otherwise Emerel was seldom even mentioned in connection with her début.
I fancy he would be very glad to have you back." "In the old way? I would rather be excused." "No, from what he said, I thought he would like your writing in the editorial page." Maxwell looked pleased. "Ricker's always been very good, but he has very little influence on the Abstract. He has no money interest in the paper." Hilary said, with the greatest artfulness, "I wonder he doesn't buy in.
He now offered him some of the Events stock on extremely advantageous terms, with the avowed purpose of attaching him to the paper. There seemed nothing covert in this, and Bartley had never heard any doubts of the prosperity of the Events, but he would have especially liked to have Ricker's mind upon this offer of stock.
All three were in a hilarious mood; they called for supper, and said that they meant to drive on to Ricker's Tavern, at the Poland Spring. There was a lively fire on the hearth, for the night was cold and windy; the newcomers stood in front of it while Addison and I sat back, looking on. The cause of their boisterousness was quite apparent; they were plentifully supplied with whiskey.
When after breakfast Bartley took him out to Cambridge on the horse-cars, and showed him the College buildings, and Memorial Hall, and the Washington Elm, and Mount Auburn, Kinney fell into such a cowed and broken condition, that something had to be specially done to put him in repair against Ricker's coming to dinner. Marcia luckily thought of asking him if he would like to see her kitchen.
"Well, I've thought it all over, an' I think Billy Ricker's our man. He'll be over from Montrose to-morrow an' I'll talk it over with him. We've got that Montrose trade so solid he can be spared from there now. Guess there ain't any trade tonight or Bob would have called us in afore this."
Bartley knew that this was Ricker's way of accepting, and he said nothing, but he answered his next question with easy joviality. "How are you making it with old Witherby?" "Oh, hand over hand! Witherby and I were formed for each other. By, by!" "No, hold on! Why don't you come to the club any more?" "We-e-ll! The club isn't what it used to be," said Bartley, confidentially. "Why, of course!
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