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Edward Tighe, the head and brains of this concern, was a Boston Irishman, the son of an immigrant who had flourished and done well in that conservative city. He had come to Philadelphia to interest himself in the speculative life there. "Sure, it's a right good place for those of us who are awake," he told his friends, with a slight Irish accent, and he considered himself very much awake.
"Sho, I got cranky and wouldn't eat. Yore folks treated me fine. I got my neck bowed. Can't blame them for that, can I?" "We must be going," she told him. "If you don't get over the pass before morning, Tighe might catch you." He nodded agreement. "You're right, but I've got to look out for young Beaudry. Do you know where he is?" "He is waiting outside," the girl said stiffly.
Beulah went into the house the same gay and light-hearted comrade of Beaudry that she had been all morning. When he was called in to dinner, he saw at once that Tighe had laid his spell upon her. She was again the sullen, resentful girl of yesterday. Suspicion filmed her eyes.
Tighe, rector of Drumgooland parish. Thence he proceeded to St. John's College, Cambridge, where he was entered in July, 1802, being at the time five-and-twenty years of age. After nearly four years' residence, he obtained his B.A. degree, and was ordained to a curacy in Essex, whence he removed into Yorkshire.
He'll go through. . . . And if it comes to a showdown, I won't have him starved to death." Tighe looked at him through half-hooded, cruel eyes. "He'll weaken. Another day or two will do it. Don't worry about Dingwell." "There's not a yellow streak in him. You haven't a chance to make him quit." Rutherford took another turn up and down the room diagonally. "I don't like this way of fighting.
"If it isn't I can stay away, can't I? Well, I'm not going to quarrel with you, Beulah. Good-night." As soon as he was out of sight of the ranch, Charlton turned the head of his horse, not toward his own place, but toward that of Jess Tighe. Dr. Spindler drove up while Beulah was still on the porch. He examined the bruised ankle, dressed it, and pronounced that all it needed was a rest.
Only the lips and mouth responded mechanically to it. "Glad to see you, Miss Beulah. Come in." He opened the gate and they entered. Presently Beaudry, his blood beating fast, found himself shaking hands with Tighe. The man had an odd trick of looking at one always from partly hooded eyes and at an angle. "Mr. Street is selling windmills," explained Miss Rutherford.
Tighe of Woodstock her mother, the Duchess of Richmond, said, "Poor Louisa is going to make a shocking marriage a man called Tiggy, my dear, a Saint and a Radical."
It was useless, as Frank soon found, to try to figure out exactly why stocks rose and fell. Some general reasons there were, of course, as he was told by Tighe, but they could not always be depended on. "Sure, anything can make or break a market" Tighe explained in his delicate brogue "from the failure of a bank to the rumor that your second cousin's grandmother has a cold.
They heard the bugle call from post to post; they remembered the chilly winter night, the wind in the pines, the laughter of the men. Lights out! Martin Tighe's boy sounded it again sharply. It seemed as if poor Eb Munson and John Tighe must hear it too in their narrow graves.
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