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"When you are all your old self, and in your pleasant home, everything of this night and morning will come to you." "What do you mean, Mr. Ridgeley?" a little coolly. "Nothing," in a sad, low voice. They had gained the road. "See," said he, "here is somebody's road, from some place to somewhere; we will follow it up to the some place. There! I hear an axe.
"But it spoils one fearfully for the everyday practicalities of the city a Northern city, especially." "Better stay where you are, then, instead of deserting our ranks to-morrow," suggested Rosa, gliding by his side out upon the long portico at the end of the house. "What does your nature crave that Ridgeley cannot supply?" "Work, and a career!" "You still feel the need of these?" significantly.
They changed their manner to one of acquiescence, but thought of her as a child just the same. After dinner they all went out to see the crew working. It was the biggest crew anywhere in the neighborhood, and they sat a long while and watched the men at work. Ridgeley got out and hitched the team to a tree, and took Field up to the skidway. Mrs. Field remained in the sleigh, however.
"Ridgeley seems to be taken in hand by Miss Giddings," said Kennedy; "that would not be a bad opening for an ambitious man." "Of the ripe years of twenty-three," put in Case. "The average age would be about right. She has led out one or two of each crop of law students since she was sixteen." "What has been the trouble?" asked Kennedy. "I don't know. They came, and went
He was freshly shaven, and though his clothes were rough, he appeared the man of education he really was. His manner was cold and distant. "I'd like to be paid off, Mr. Ridgeley," he said. "I guess what's left of my pay will take me out of this." "Where do you propose to go?" Ridgeley asked, with kindly interest.
"It is deposited, sealed up again, with a sure friend, who has instructions, unless I claim it in person on or before the last day of this year, to deliver it in person to the King. At present no one knows its contents except my lord Brocton who wrote it, and I who read it." "Thank God!" ejaculated the rascal old earl fervently. "Egad," thought I to myself. "It's the Ridgeley estates no less."
They were going out for a drive. Ridgeley was working at his books, and he had forgotten her presence. She could not but feel a deep admiration for his powerful frame and his quick, absorbed action as he moved about from his safe to his desk. He was a man of great force and ready decision. Suddenly the door opened and a man entered. He had a sullen and bitter look on his thin, dark face.
And here was this young Bart Ridgeley, who had been nowhere, had read next to nothing, whom they had esteemed a lazy, shiftless fellow, without capability for useful and thrifty pursuits, and who had in their presence, for the last two days, taken up a hopeless case, and conducted it against a man who, in their hearts, they had supposed was more than a match for Joshua R. Giddings or Chief Justice Hitchcock, beaten and baffled him, and finally thrashed him out of all semblance of an advocate.
"Hello," he called, "did you want me?" "Yes, Ridgeley." He came in. "Anything the matter?" "No. I'm not sick. But I want to talk." "About what?" "This " She showed him the paper with its caption, "For Anne." "Ridgeley, did you write it because I was afraid?" her hand went out to him. His own went over it. "I think I wrote it because I was afraid." "You?" His grip almost hurt her.
If only Cherryvale afforded a chance to know people like Ridgeley Holman Dobson! Unprosaic people, really interesting people. People who had travelled in far lands; who had seen unusual sights, plumbed the world's possibilities, done heroic deeds, laid hands on large affairs. But what chance for this in poky Cherryvale?