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A farmer, with a very shrewd and comic expression of countenance, next made his appearance, and taking his hat off and laying it on the floor with his staff across it, took his seat, as he had been motioned to do, upon the chair which Mrs. Houlaghan had just vacated. "Well, my friend," said the conjurer, "what's troubling you?" "A crock o' butther, your honor." "How is that? explain yourself."
"I'm sure Major Kent had nothing to do with that. He's not at all the kind of man who'd make plans and schemes. But the whole thing is utterly absurd. What's the good of talking about it?" "It is utterly absurd. It's the most absurd thing I ever heard of in my life.
"We've killed more than we could carry, an', what's worse, we've killed more than we wanted." "How so?" "We've had a brush wi' the redskins, sir, an' we had to kill one or two in self-defence." McLeod's brow darkened. He clenched his teeth, and the large veins swelled in his neck and forehead. With a powerful effort he repressed his anger, and said "Did I not warn you to avoid that if you could?"
"Oh, shut your dirty face!" replied the son, while one of his cronies warned both against being overheard. But when this one added something further the old man snarled: "What's that about the horse? The horse might git away and be evidence ag'inst us? What? Oh, now give the true reason; you want the horse, that's all! You two lickskillets air in this thing pyo'ly for the stealin's.
"What's the matter, Johnny?" said the master, to whom these gyrations were not unfamiliar. Johnny only replied by a new grip of his brother's trousers. "Well, sir," said Rupert, slightly recovering his dimples and his readiness, "Johnny, yer, wants me to tell ye something.
"This is simply disgusting," fretted Steve. "It's something that can't very well be helped," Jack told him: "and so what's the use of feeling bad about it. There are other days coming, when we may be able to pass along here without being balked by a mother cat with kittens. You know the old saying, 'what can't be cured must be endured, so we'll have to make the best of it."
Tell just as much as I please. For I'm saying no more than's true. And in case you'd care to know, I can tell you the Inspector's got a word to say to you very soon. Ay, that he has, or hearing goes for nothing. So you've no call to be anyway stuck up yourself. And as for me telling or not telling things, I'm saying never a thing but what's the truth. Just remember that.
"Oh, here's Clem," and, rushing out, Charlotte could hear a whispered consultation with, "Did you ever?" and "I'm awfully ashamed," while Clem's voice said, "So am I." "Well, come in," said Alexia audibly at last, dragging Clem after her into the reception room, "we've got to do what's right now, any way."
"Tis the wind," said one of the churners. "Nay, look, somebody's a-tryin' to get in," returned the mistress, as the latch rose in a ghostly manner, fluttered, and fell. "Go to the door, Tom," she continued, "and see what's wanted." "'Tis maybe a spirit," said Tom, shrinking back. "Nonsense! What would a spirit want at the dairy door? 'Tis more like a tramp. Open it at once You go, Jane."
But she supposes he was disappointed, for he went out, came back, and merely told her to put up the things, as they must go back to Lunnon. And on his way there he died. Hush, what's that? I hope she did not overhear us. No, we were talking low. She has the next room to your'n, sir. I thought I heard her sobbing. Hush!" "In the next room? I hear nothing.
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