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Updated: May 26, 2025
"All very well about Rhoda," said Anthony. "She's everything to me, too." "Every everybody loves her!" Dahlia took him up. "Let 'em, so long as they don't do no harm to her," was Anthony's remark. There was an idea in this that he had said, and the light of it led off his fancy. It was some time before he returned to the attack. "Neighbours gossip a good deal. O' course you know that."
For, until the nineties, although the city distended in all directions, huge, ugly, powerful, infinitely rich, and while in the direction of Anthony's farm the growth was real and rapid, it was the plain people who lined its rapidly extending avenues with their two-story brick houses; little homes of infinite tenderness and quiet, along tree-lined streets, where the children played on the cobble-stones, and at night the horse cars, and later the cable system, brought home tired clerks and storekeepers to small havens, already growing dingy from the smoke of the distant mills.
Williams turned her paper over to Matilda Joslyn Gage, who added National Citizen to the title. Miss Anthony's and Mrs. Stanton's names were placed at the head as corresponding editors, and the paper was ably conducted by Mrs.
On the third day there was a public funeral, held in the Congregational church, and, though a wild blizzard was raging, every one in Rochester seemed included in the great throng of mourners who came to her bier in reverence and left it in tears. The church services were conducted by the pastor, the Rev. C. C. Albertson, a lifelong friend of Miss Anthony's, assisted by the Rev. William C. Gannett.
Again her sidelong glance swept the lines of Jim Anthony's massive jaw. She laughed softly. "What's the matter?" he asked. "Nothing. I'm just happy." She blushed and wondered if he had read her thoughts by some subtle power of clairvoyance. She was speculating on the effects of love at first sight on such a man.
Cullin turned sharply, resentful at first at the tone of authority, wrath in his heart and rebuke on his tongue, but then came sudden reminder of Anthony's card the card the strange young fellow had presented only when needed to convince, the card he had been so sagacious as to retain, the card that proclaimed him a friend of the powers and a person to be considered.
At any rate, the little donkey was everywhere at once, biting, striking, kicking, squealing, with the venom and speed and precision of a rattlesnake, while Mignon railed, unmindful of Anthony's protests. "Ze blood on hees clothes! Bah! You 'ave all see 'ow he is carry home la petite so-hurt dog. Oui! ze dog of Monsieur Pete. Who is know where Monsieur Collins is go for new dog fight?
He's Darwin K. Anthony's son. You've heard about the Anthony bill at Albany?" "Yes, and I saw this fellow play football four years ago. Say! That was a game." "He's a worthless sort of chap, isn't he?" remarked one of the women, when the squad had disappeared up the stairs. "Just a rich man's son, that's all. But he certainly could play football."
It was his intention to remain at Saint Paul a couple of days, see Saint Anthony's Falls and Minnehaha, and then take the same boat back down the river. But something happened that induced him to change his plans. The two days on the steamboat had wearied Jim. The prenatal Scotch idea of industry was upon him, and conscience had begun to squirm.
Mark Anthony's attention, who started round, looked as full in the face, and then gravely added, "Enough is as good as a feast. I wish you pleasant drames, Mr. Larry Kar, if that's your name; and you'll hear from me in the morning." "I intend it," said I. "Good night, dearest; think of " The slam of the street door in my face spoiled the peroration, and I turned towards home.
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