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Updated: May 27, 2025
Of course two years later they were showing practically the same thing at Megan's dry-goods store. But that was always the way with Angie Hatton. Even those of us who went to Chicago to shop never quite caught up with her. Delivered of this ironic thrust, Tessie would walk toward the screen door with a little flaunting sway of the hips.
There sprang up, seemingly overnight, a great wooden hall in Elm Street, on what had been a vacant lot. And there, by day or by night, were to be had music, and dancing, and hot cakes, and magazines, and hot coffee, and ice cream and girls. Girls! Girls who were straight, and slim, and young, and bright-eyed, and companionable. Girls like Angie Hatton. Girls like Betty Weld.
"Mine's perfectly lovely" with a ravishing smile "but it's not very sweet." "I made them dry for you thought you'd like 'em that way," he stammered. "Perhaps you'd like 'em better if I put a collar on 'em?" The chorus negatived this suggestion very promptly. "Why don't you try a glass, Mr. Duncan?" Angie added with malice.
She looked up at him, terror and relief in her face. He peered over his glasses at her. "Who is it?" Tessie had not known, somehow, that his face was so kindly. Tessie's carefully planned story crumbled into nothingness. "It's me!" she whimpered. "It's me!" He reached out and put a hand on her arm and drew her inside. "Angie! Angie! Here's a poor little kid...."
They wasted little conversation on the stag. It was much more exciting to exhibit letters on blue-lined paper with the red emblem at the top. Chuck's last letter had contained the news of his sergeancy. Angie Hatton, home from the East, was writing letters, too. Everyone in Chippewa knew that. She wrote on that new art paper with the gnawed-looking edges and stiff as a newly laundered cuff.
I'm so upset I don't seem to remember what I Oh, yes, now I know where I was. The detectives insisted on searching every room in the Tavern. Angie Miller got as sore as a boiled lobster when they knocked on her door and asked if he was in her room.
"Now I'll pull up the shades and let in a little of our well-known hoosier atmosphere, and some real moonshine. Hello! There go Hatch and Angie, out for a stroll. Yep! She's got him headed toward Foster's soda water joint. I'll bet every tooth in his head is achin'." "How long have you been running the grain elevator, Charlie?" "Ever since David Windom built it, back in 1897, twenty-two years.
"Your Uncle Cy's weathered the Horn and is bound for clear water now. Three cheers for our side! Won't we give him a reception when we get him back here!" "Won't we?" crowed Asaph. "Well, I just guess we will! You ought to hear Angie and the rest of 'em chant hymns of glory about him. A body'd think they always knew he was the salt of the earth. Maybe I don't rub it in a little, hey?
Tessie remembered later that she had felt no surprise at the act. "There, there!" Angie Hatton was saying. "Just poke up the fire, Dad. And get something from the dining room. Oh, I don't know. To drink, you know. Something " Then Old Man Hatton stood over her, holding a small glass to her lips. Tessie drank it obediently, made a wry little face, coughed, wiped her eyes, and sat up.
He laughed in measureless self-contempt. "Poker." "I see. But, Vernon, don't make me drag it out of you like this. Tell me the whole story." "It was before Starr went to Mexico." Vernon hesitated and then the words came with a rush from his overburdened breast. "He was playing up strong to Angie, and he saw I didn't like it.
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