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Updated: May 19, 2025
"That 'right gal, according to the notions of some of 'em," retorted Mrs. Wilkins, "'er place ain't down 'ere among us mere mortals; 'er place is up in 'eaven with a 'arp and a golden crown.
I hope yer did what I told you and stuck out for a pound a week. Rich folk like these here would think nothing of a pound a week, nor yet two, when they sees their child is suited." "Never mind about my money, that's my affair. Tell me what's the matter with my baby?" "'Ow yer do 'arp on it!
Bantry's house was run for him, like Louden's is now." "And look," exclaimed Mr. Arp, with satisfaction, "at the way he's turned out!" "He ain't turned out at all yet; he's too young," said Buckalew. "Besides, clothes don't make the man." "Wasn't he smokin' a cigareet!" cried Eskew, triumphantly. This was final. "It's a pity Henry Louden can't do something for his own son," said Mr. Bradbury.
Arp murmured, between short struggles for breath, "that it 'll be quieter on the "National House" corner!" A moment later he called the doctor faintly and asked for a restorative. "There," he said, in a stronger voice and with a gleam of satisfaction in the vindication of his belief that he was dying. "I was almost gone then. I know!" He lay panting for a moment, then spoke the name of Joe Louden.
His rivals were such humorists as Orpheus C. Kerr, Nasby, Asa Hartz, The Fat Contributor, John Happy, Mrs. Partington, Bill Arp and the like, who are now mostly forgotten. Artemus Ward wrote little, but he made good and left his mark. Along with the queer John Phoenix his writings survived the deluge that followed them. He poured out the wine of life in a limpid stream.
Arp had not begun life so sourly: as a youth he had been proud of his given name, which had come to him through his mother's family, who had made it honorable, but many years of explanations that Eskew did not indicate his initials had lowered his opinion of the intelligence and morality of the race.
"Look here, Eskew," said Jonas Tabor, "that's got nothin' to do with " "Why ain't it? Answer me!" cried Mr. Arp, continuing, without pause: "Why ain't it? Can't you wait till I git through? You listen to me, and when I'm ready I'll listen to " "See here," began the Colonel, making himself heard over three others, "I want to ask you " "No, sir!" Mr.
But such things come and such things go: after eighty there are ups and downs; people fading away one week, bloom out pleasantly the next, and resiliency is not at all a patent belonging to youth alone. The material change in Mr. Arp might have been thought little worth remarking.
She stooped to pick it up, with her face away from Norbert and towards the palms, whispering tremulously, but with passionate urgency, "Please GO!" "It isn't your grandfather that has come for you," said the fat one, slowly. "It is old Eskew Arp. Something's happened." She looked at him for a moment, beginning to tremble violently, her eyes growing wide with fright.
Oblongs of light abruptly dropped from the windows confronting them, one, falling across the bench, appropriately touching with lemon the acrid, withered face and trembling hands of the veteran. "You are younger than you were nine years ago, Mr. Arp," said Ariel, gayly. "I caught a glimpse of you upon the street, to-day, and I thought so then. Now I see that I was right."
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