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My first wife, Hannah M. Fisher, to whom I was married in 1855, and who died in 1861, was of a very amiable spirit, a woman of more than ordinary culture, and was the mother of my first two children, Mrs. Ridgely and Mrs. Hardie, who lived to womanhood, but both of whom have passed away. My second wife, Julia Fisher, was the sister of my first wife. No better or truer woman ever lived.

I've learned a good deal about you, and if I hadn't about decided to quit business I'd offer you a job." "What!" smiled Dave "smuggling?" "Well, it pays pretty big, you know." "Does it?" replied Dave. "I fail to see it. I wouldn't like to be in a position where I was being chased half over the country." "H'm, we won't discuss it," retorted Ridgely in a moody tone.

Keith, after a few days with his father, stopped at Ridgely to see his old friends. The Doctor looked him over with some disapproval. "As gaunt as a greyhound," he muttered. "My patient not married yet, I suppose? Well, she will be. You'd better tear her out of your memory before she gets too firmly lodged there." Keith boldly said he would take the chances.

Charles Ridgely was a man of great reading and great cultivation, and a man whom any one would like to meet. His death was a loss to Springfield of one of its most interesting and enterprising characters. He was a warm friend and supporter of mine in the early days. James C. Robinson was twice elected to Congress. He and Governor Oglesby were opponents for State Senator from the district.

What's more, they're coming this way to get the rest of us." At this announcement came another cry. "You are sure of that?" "When was this?" "How soon will they be here?" "Who is responsible for this?" So the cries and questions ran on. There was an excited discussion all around. "Maybe Ridgely is a turncoat!" cried somebody.

"Have you fathomed his purpose in taking the air route, Mr. Price?" asked the factory manager. "Most certainly." "I am puzzled to guess what it may be." "Why, it's plain as the nose on your face," said the officer bluntly. "How is that?" "You know that this man, Ridgely, is a professional smuggler?" "So Dashaway has told me." "We drove him from one point on the border.

Its accents were as pert and ringing as ever, and Dave was overjoyed to know that his loyal comrade was alive and apparently unhurt. "Say, Dawson," here broke in Ridgely, "I want to speak to you." "Put this fellow in with Dashaway," ordered Jerry, and then the door of Dave's prison place was pulled open.

"I found the place where they sent up the rockets without much trouble." "What was it, Hiram?" "An old factory yard. Part of the buildings have been burned down, and three or four loaferish looking fellows seem to live in an old shake down there. They belong to the crowd of that fellow, Ridgely, the smuggler, right enough." "How did you know that, Hiram?" asked Dave. "Because I overheard them.

"Well, I'm Squire Rawson of Ridgely, and I know more law than a hundred consarned blue-bellied thief-hiders like you. Whoever says I am drunk is a liar. But if I was drunk is that any reason for you to let a thief rob me? What is your name? I've a mind to arrest you and run you in myself. I've run many a better man in."

He seemed to be out of humor, and was more than usually abrupt. He declared that he knew nothing about it, that he did not know Ridgely, and never had had any intention of appointing him. I repeated that I had seen the announcement in a newspaper, adding that it looked to me as though the report were authentic, and that I only wanted to congratulate him.