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"You know I shall be compelled to take dinner with the folks to-night." "At about what time, Mr. Trimmer?" Bobby asked. "Oh, suit yourself. Any time," responded that gentleman eagerly. "Say half-past six." "The Traders'," mused Bobby. "I think the governor put me up there four or five years ago."
Trimmer lives, or to any point where I can get a sight of the place, I'd be obliged." The two men stood in the kitchen and looked at each other. The face of Captain Eli was of the hue of a clam-shell. "Go with him, cap'n," he said in a hoarse whisper. "I can't do it." "To your house?" inquired the other. "Of course. Take him to my house. There ain't no other place where she is. Take him along."
I shut the door before these last ones got into the parlor." Susan Adkins regarded malevolently the three tortoise-shell cats of three generations and various stages of growth, one Maltese settled in a purring round of comfort with four kittens, and one perfectly black cat, which sat glaring at her with beryl-colored eyes. "That black cat looks evil," said Mrs. Trimmer. "Yes, he does.
He was making a terrible effort to finish all he had to impart. "Trimmer put me on to all the game. It was him that told me you was goin' through, when I pretty near got you, in the pass." Van's eyes took on a deep intensity. "Trimmer? Trimmer?" "Larry Trimmer Pine-tree Trimmer," explained the convict impatiently. "McCoppet wanted you detained, the day they jumped your claim.
But he was not a man to be deterred by difficult navigation, and he walked straight to Eliza Trimmer's house. Mrs. Trimmer was a comely woman about thirty-five, who had come to the village a year before, and had maintained herself, or at least had tried to, by dressmaking and plain sewing.
Trimmer a surprise, and not to say anything which might enable another person to interfere with his project. The two men had scarcely stepped upon the piazza when Mrs. Trimmer, who had been expecting early visitors, opened the door. She was about to call out "Merry Christmas!" but, her eyes falling upon a stranger, the words stopped at her lips.
Berryman," said a conciliatory voice behind it came from Trimmer, who had set his back against the hearth, and grasped with either hand a fistful of his gown "the book's a classic!" "Classic!" exclaimed Berryman, transfixing Shelton with his eyes; "the fellow ought to have been horsewhipped for writing such putridity!"
One being only departed from the scene Trimmer, the lumberman, swiftly seeking McCoppet. Van, in his heat, had told too much, accusing the prisoner in hand. He silenced Gettysburg abruptly and started to force aside the crowd. "Gentlemen, gentlemen, move aside," he said. "I've got by Jupe! there's Bostwick!" It was Bostwick fleeing to his car that Van had discovered.
The balance of the discussion consisted in one word from Mr. Smythe, echoed by all his fellow-members. "Question!" said that gentleman. "You have all heard the question," said Mr. Trimmer calmly. "Those in favor will please signify by saying 'Aye." "Aye!" voted four members of the board as with one scarcely interested voice.
The voice of Trimmer made things pleasant: "Question of moral standards, that, and nothing more." He had stretched his legs like compasses, and the way he grasped his gown-wings seemed to turn him to a pair of scales. His lowering smile embraced the room, deprecating strong expressions. "After all," he seemed to say, "we are men of the world; we know there 's not very much in anything.
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