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Updated: June 19, 2025
A kind of disdain might be traced in the curve of the short upper lip, to which the moustache was clipped close a good fit, like his coat. The disdain was more marked this morning. The first part of his ride had been seen by Young Aleck, the second part by Mab Humphrey. Her first thought on seeing him was one of apprehension for Young Aleck and those of Young Aleck's name.
But don't think that I'd regret his struggle for you, as you call it, even if it should mean the worst. He couldn't have done otherwise, and I wouldn't have had him. And if it's to be a a home run why, then, Jim would like that far better than to die of old age or liver complaint. It's all right, Miss Redmond." Aleck's slow words came with a double meaning to Agatha.
Courtland lifted up the cover to put it on again, and there they saw, in a child's stiff little printing letters, the inscription, "Aleck's new Sunday suit," and underneath, like a subtitle, in smaller letters, "Made out of father's best overcoat." "Poor little kid!" said Courtland. "He never got to wear it!"
Thus encouraged, the big dog seized the other, and fairly lifted him off the ground, shaking him violently a proceeding that had the effect of thoroughly rousing Aleck's temper. And then began a most Homeric combat.
The first to enter was Aleck, who, following his custom, sprang upon Angela and licked her hand, and behind Aleck, looking somewhat confused, but handsome and happy for his was one of those faces that become handsome when their owners are happy came Aleck's master. And then there ensued an infinitesimal but most awkward pause.
You will remember that these two once held a short private interview at this very spot. "Good-morning, sir," was Aleck's greeting. "We didn't like to break up your night's rest, but I suppose we did." "You may safely say that," answered Marcy. "We never slept a wink, or even tried to, after we saw that Beardsley's house was on fire. My mother and I are sorry you did that.
Hence it was that when Tom Bodger swept the pier from where he sat in Aleck's boat lying by the steps in the harbour, he saw nothing but the top of the pier, and his eyes fell again upon the sloop's beautifully clean boat, which he again compared with the one he occupied, with such unfavourable effect to the latter that he muttered to himself a little, took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves over his tattooed arms, and went in for a general clean up.
For Aleck's intent was to avoid being observed by the old gardener, whom he had last seen at work over the celery trench upon the other side of the house.
Men-of-war going into Rockabie harbour! That news was sufficient to upset all Aleck's arrangements. He forgot all about the lesson he was going to give the gardener, and rushed indoors, to hurry upstairs and rap sharply at his uncle's study, and, getting no answer he threw open the door to cross the room and seize the glass from where it hung by its sling.
For a second or two Mélanie's eyes refused to lift; but Aleck's firm-planted figure, his steady gaze, above all, his dominating will, forced her to look up. There he was, smiling, strong, big, kindly. Mélanie started to smile, but for the second time that morning her eyes unexpectedly filled with tears.
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