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During this conference Robbins had been eyeing his fireman with growing disfavor, and as Fielding ceased, he strode suddenly up to Ovide and said to him with ill-suppressed wrath: "Before thou begins thy duties as cook, it is only right that thou shouldst say how thou larned to cook, and just how much thou knows about it.
And what would become of Fanny and of little Josephine if they were brought up under the demoralizing influences of spectacles like that! Do you suppose I 'm going to have Galileo and Herschel corrupted? And little Erasmus shall his pure, innocent mind be contaminated? Never, neighbor Robbins, never!" But Mr. Robbins did not seem to view the matter at all as I did.
It was Luke Robbins, who, tired with working the claim, was going to the store to replenish his stock of tobacco. Tom Burns pulled his soft hat down over his eyes and pushed swiftly on. Luke Robbins halted a moment and looked at him. As in Ernest's case, he seemed to see something familiar in the appearance of the tramp.
John Fox was not a coward on the contrary, he was a man of boldness and courage, but as he looked up at the stern face of the Quaker detective he quailed, almost for the first time in his life. He tried to rise, but the heavy foot of Luke Robbins was on his breast. "Let me up!" he growled. "You don't deserve to get up. You should lie there forever, for your cowardice in attacking a woman."
Among the prominent Bostonians who took part in these informal talks were Theodore Parker, Adin Ballou, Samuel Robbins, John S. Dwight, Warren Burton, and Orestes Brownson. Each of these men, and, if we do not mistake, George Ripley also, presided at the time over some religious body. Mr.
At one time Claflin gave orders to double-shot his guns, they being nothing but little brass howitzers, and he counted, "One, two, three, four," until one of his own carriages capsized and fell down into the gulch; from which place Captain Samuel Robbins and his company, K, extricated it and saved it from falling into the enemy's hands.
Fortunately, for humanity's sake, there were on our special which consisted of the engine, the baggage car, and our private car only five souls: Charles Fielding, the manager; myself, William Thurlow; Fred Swan, the conductor; Joe Robbins, the driver; and the hero of this history, Ovide Tetreault, the French-Canadian fireman.
So Pringle wriggled out with his canteen, selected a horse, and rode quietly through the open gate. "Going already?" called Robbins as he passed. Secure under cover of darkness, Pringle answered in the voice of one who, riding, eats: "Yes, indeedy; I ain't no hawg. Wasn't much hungry nohow!" At the foot of Little Thumb Butte a lengthening semicircle of fire flared through the night.
He waited a while, and then whistled, soft and low. There was no answer. He looked around him, trying to decide where he was and what to do. His eyes fell upon the two recently dug graves. Headboards stood at each of them. Both were covered. Near the mounds lay a spade. The earth clinging to it was moist. With his heart in his throat, Dave Robbins again looked at the grave markers.
M'sieur Morin, he leave thoze li'l peezes papier in those table, and say ver' much 'bout money thass hard for me to ond'stan. Mais I never see those money again. Thass ver' wicked man, M'sieur Morin. H'what you call those peezes papier, M'sieur Robbin' bon!" Robbins explained.
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