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A. D. T. Whitney, "Pansy," Amanda M. Douglas, and similar good-goody writers for good-goody girls; their only remarks being that their titles didn't sound interesting. I spoke enthusiastically of "Little Women," telling them how I had read it four times, and that I meant to read it again some day.
"Possibly the presence of the detectives makes them nervous." "Well, a sudden leave-taking from here will probably center the detectives' attention upon them more than if they stayed and did their work." "That is highly probable. Tell me, Dad" Kathleen regarded Whitney intently "how is it that I am not in jail? Did not the coroner's jury convict me?"
Ranger, when they were in the "front parlor," the two older women seated, Adelaide moving restlessly about. "Janet and Ross haven't come yet," answered Mrs. Whitney. "They'll be on next week, but only for a little while. They both like it better in the East. All their friends are there and there's so much more to do." Mrs.
Miss Delia Whitney was writing a novel. Poor deaf Aunt Clem had dropped out of life like a child going to sleep. Aunt Patty kept well and bright. Nora was growing up into a tall girl, and went to Rutger's Institute, though she confessed to Hanny, "She just hated all schools, and wouldn't go a day longer, only it was not quite the thing to grow up an ignoramus."
Whitney in his journey towards the Barren Lands, and the data may be accepted as correct, as they were secured from the Hudson Bay officials.
She did a great deal of reading in this direction because it was also the direction of her talent, and so she could make herself think she was getting ready to join in Dory's work when he returned. She heard footsteps just round the corner, and looked up. She and Ross Whitney were face to face. There was no chance for evasion.
You must learn to forget her, Rex," she repeated, slowly. A low cry escaped from Rex's lips, and he recoiled from her as though she had struck him a heavy blow. His heart seemed fairly stifled in his bosom, and he trembled in every limb with repressed excitement. "Here is a letter from Madame Whitney," she continued. "Read it for yourself, Rex. You see, she says: 'Daisy fled.
Anybody that knows Sutherland, knows he hasn't played his trump card yet; and you may rest assured that English lawyer isn't over here as a figure-head!" Ralph Mainwaring, passing hastily from the court-room, accompanied by Mr. Whitney, overheard the last remark.
Meanwhile North Carolina had agreed to buy the rights for the State on terms that yielded Whitney about thirty thousand dollars, and it is estimated that he received about ten thousand dollars from Tennessee, making his receipts in all about ninety thousand dollars, before deducting costs of litigation and other losses. The cotton gin was not profitable to its inventor.
Whitney, will have far more weight on this point than anything that I can say. He might just as reasonably assert that the human hand cannot act without a tool.
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