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He looked up with an eager, questioning glance, which Gilbert totally misunderstood. "What was your other name?" he asked, in a barely audible voice. "I dunno as I need tell it," Sandy answered; "what'd be the good? There's some yet livin', o' the same name, and they wouldn't thank me." "Sandy!"
"I want to wring your neck jest like a chicken's. What'd you do with her picture and letters?" Si thrust his hand unceremoniously into Bushrod's pocket and found the ambrotype of Annabel. "What'd you do with them letters?" Si demanded fiercely. "Ike has 'em," said Bushrod. "You've got my shoes on, you brindle whelp," said Shorty, giving him a cuff in bitter remembrance of his own smarting feet.
Went over last year she did, but doesn't care to stay." "Never mind about her," says Barbro. "And what'd become of me then?" says she, and begins to be soft and mournful. "No. That's why I've not fixed up all certain with her."
They talk about things that aren't there. But I think I could make them see " "Oh, cut it out, Warble. You'd dust books so hard, you'd dust off the gilt edges. They're deep-sea thinkers, that bunch let 'em alone. What'd they talk about?" "About a book called 'Painted Shawls' or something, and about Thyco- Serapy, and about a play called 'The Housebroke Heart. Take me to see it, will you, Bill?"
He recalled what his wife had once said when he hesitated over some new extravagance of the children's: "What'd we toil and save for, unless to give them a better time than we had? What's the use of our having money if they can't enjoy it?" A "better time," "enjoy" they sounded all right, but were they really all right? Was this really a "better time"? really enjoyment?
The other men had seen sunsets there, and sometimes a ship, or a school of porpoises. But Pink had seen only Lily. She came in. The dear old girl! The beautiful, wonderful, dear old girl! The "Pink!" "H hello, Lily." "Why, Pink you're a man!" "What'd you think I'd be? A girl?" "You've grown." "Oh, now see here, Lily. I quit growing years ago." "And to think you are back all right.
That girl was Bessy Bell. "Hello, Dad it's Bessy," she said, clearly. She was pale, but did not seem frightened. Chief Bell halted in the middle of a stride and staggered a little as his foot came down. A low curse of utter amaze escaped his lips. Suddenly he became tensely animated. "How'd you come here?" he demanded, towering over her. "I walked." "What'd you come for?"
I heard one of 'em say she could save more money workin' for nothin' in France than she could earn in a year down here at double pay. What'd you say your name was, young feller?" "Percival." "I mean your last name." "That's it." "Come off! Nobody ever had a last name like that." "You ought to hear what my first name is, and my middle one, too.
"Wal," began the old man, at last, "how'd you make out with the kid?" "Kid?" inquired Duane, tentatively. "Jennie, I mean. What'd you An' she talk about?" "We had a little chat. You know you wanted me to cheer her up." Euchre sat with coffee-cup poised and narrow eyes studying Duane. "Reckon you cheered her, all right. What I'm afeared of is mebbe you done the job too well." "How so?"
"Yes, that's easy," drawled Maudlin, wobbling his head. For a long time they sat talking and planning, until at length Morse put his hand in his pocket and handed the other man some money. Maudlin tucked it away with a grin. "Easy cash, eh? What'd you say the dame's name was?" "Merriweather Molly Merriweather. She's companion to Mr. King's mother."
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