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"I'm attending to this salvage, sir," said Mr. Martin, to the captain. "My folks live up Asquam way. I'll take him along with me." Asquam's languid representative of the telegraph knocked upon the door of Applegate Farm, which was locked. Then he thrust the yellow envelope as far under the door as possible and went his way.
They passed several low, sturdy farm-houses, and one or two boarded-up summer cottages; then two white chimneys showed above a dark green tumble of trees, and the ancient Hopkins pointed with his whip saying: "Ther' you be. Kind o' dull this time year, I guess; but my! Asquam's real uppy, come summer machines a-goin', an' city folks an' such.
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