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"Meesis she dress by supper in den room yet," says she. "Such sadness!" says I. "Maybe there's nobody but Miss Vee downstairs?" "Ja," says Selma, starin' stupid. "Not nobody else but Miss Verona, no." "You're a bright girl from the feet down," says I, pushin' in past her. "Shut the door easy so as not to disturb Aunty, and I'll try to cheer up Miss Verona until she comes down.
Wal, I guess there was a rus'lin' among the bunnets. Mis' Pipperidge gin a great bounce, like corn poppin' on a shovel, and her eyes glared through her glasses at Huldy as if they'd a sot her afire; and everybody in the meetin' house was a starin', I tell yew.
Fetch it on, Isaiah! What are you starin' at me like that for, you dumbhead?" Isaiah brought in the supper. Then he demanded to know what the fuss was all about. Shadrach told him. Isaiah's chief interest seemed to center on the attempted shooting. "Why the son of a swab!" he cried, excitedly. "Of all the cheek I ever heard of in my life that Abner Bacheldor's got the heft!
"What about twenty thousand?" says I. Gerald gulps once or twice, turns a little pale, and then asks choky, "Would would you put that in writing?" "I can give you a voucher for the whole amount," says Steele. "Then then please!" says Gerald, and he stands over J. Bayard, starin' eager, while the paper is bein' made out. He watches us both sign our names.
Maybe it was because the sidewalk taxi agent had sort of a familiar look, or perhaps I had an idea I was bein' sleuthy. Must have been four or five minutes I'd been standin' there, starin' at the entrance, when out through the revolvin' door breezes Clyde, puffin' a cigarette and swingin' his walkin'-stick jaunty. He don't spot me until he's about to brush by, and then he stops short.
He tells her about the play, the trouble he's had tryin' to fit one special part, and how he's sure she could do it to a T. He asks her to give it a try. "Go on the stage!" says Ruby, her big eyes starin' at him like he'd asked her to jump off the Metropolitan Tower. "No, I don't think I could. I'm going to be a foreign missionary, you know." "A a what?" gasps Oakley. "Missionary!
Well, cocky, 'oo are you starin' at?" "My dog," said Mr. Lavender, perceiving his chance, "has an eye for the strange and beautiful. "Wow said the soldier, whose face was bandaged, she'll get it 'ere, won't she?" Encouraged by the smiles of the soldier and his comrades, Mr. Lavender went on in the most natural voice he could assume.
And with easy money comin' in fresh and fresh every quarter, without havin' to turn a hand to get it, you'd 'most think he could take life cheerful. He don't, though. Hardly anything suits him. He develops into the club grouch, starin' slit-eyed at new members, and cultivatin' the stony glare for the world in general. And then, all of a sudden, his income dries up. Stops absolutely.
"So I says, ''Leven, you never see anybody dead before. What's the differ'nce between her an' you? "'She can't move, 'Leven says, starin' down. "'Yes, sir, s'I, 'that's it. She's through doin' the things she was born to do, an' you ain't. "With that 'Leven looks at me. "'I can't do nothin', she says again. "'Why, then, says I, brisk, 'you're as good as dead, an' we'd best bury you, too.
An' the boys, they was starin' with their eyes, an' their mouths, and forgettin' t' smoke, an' lettin' their pipes an' cigars go dead in their hands, while he talked. Talk! Sa-a-ay, girl, that guy, he could talk the leads right out of a ruled, locked form. I didn't catch his name.