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Inquiry at the station and a wire to the division superintendent failed to get a special engine to haul Car Three out that night. But in his talk with the station agent Phil learned something that set him thinking. He pondered over the information he had obtained, for sometime. "I believe I can do it," he muttered.
He carried with him, instead of a huge sample case this he left in the ante-room an ingenious little mechanical pencil sharpener. Stepping up to the superintendent's desk, he set the machine down squarely in front of the official and, without a word, picked up a pencil from the desk and sharpened it. "How much by the dozen?" asked the superintendent. "Twenty-five dollars," replied the salesman.
Clement March, the superintendent of the institution, saw only one remedy at hand, and that was to cut off and burn the tips of their tales. But when the tips were cut off they disappeared, and it was in consequence quite impracticable to burn them. Mr.
"No; that is, I guess not. Wait a minute." A touch of the bell-push brought Hallock to the door of the inner office. The green shade was pulled low over his eyes, and he held the pen he had been using as if it were a dagger. "Hallock, have you reported the disappearance of that switching-engine to Mr. Frisbie?" asked the superintendent.
It is located at 41 Waltham Street, Boston, in an elegant and commodious building recently erected, and is called the "Washingtonian Home." The superintendent is Dr. Albert Day. In 1863, another institution of this character came into existence in the city of Chicago. This is also called the "Washingtonian Home." It is situated in West Madison Street, opposite Union Park.
She wondered if Mary was making simple hemstitched things for her trousseau; if she would shamelessly marry this divorced man, superintendent of a cement works; if she would go live in a brown-shingled house and belong to the town social centre and all the rest of the woman's-column, bargain-day, sewing-society things. And Beatrice knew that Mary would.
"There is something in that, but do you think you can get him?" "I am going to get him," said Cameron quietly. The superintendent glanced at his face. "By Jove, I believe you will! But remember, you can count on me and on my Force to a man any time and every time to back you up, and there's my hand on it. And now, let's get at this thing.
The superintendent was most gracious about it. She said they could return little Fritz if he didn't come up to the mark in every particular. What more could a German fancier desire than a child whose name alone stood for all that one could possibly seek in Teutonic research? Fritz Bumbleburg: that was the infant's name and his father's name before him. Surely Mr.
It was to Heldon Foyle's own house, and not to Scotland Yard, that Green telephoned eventually. Clad in a bright blue dressing-gown, the superintendent listened, with a few non-committal interjections, until his lieutenant had finished. "On his own land, eh?" he said at last. "What do you make of it, Green? Is it genuine, or has he done it just to throw us off, and doubled back on his trail?
A. B. Gray, late U. S. Surveyor of the Mexican Boundary line, I. Smith McMicken, Esq., whose residence for many years on the Mexican frontier has entitled his opinion to some weight, and A. H. Campbell, Esq., Superintendent of Wagon Roads, whose information is full and reliable.