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Updated: June 23, 2025
With young Herbert's injurious narrative fresh in his mind, Noble quickened his steps; but as he reached the farther fence post, marking the southward limit of Mr. Atwater's property, he halted short, startled beautifully. Through the open front door, just passed, a voice had called his name; a voice of such arresting sweetness that his breath stopped, like his feet. "Oh, Noble!" it called again.
In his turn he came again to the window, and departed from it after a conversation with the clerk that left the latter in accord with Aunt Fanny Atwater's commiserating adjective, though the clerk's own pity was expressed in argot. "The poor nut!" he explained to his next client.
George Atwater's lack of tact was a legend in the family. "Florence! Where on earth are you going?" "Never mind!" Florence thought best to respond. "Never mind!" "You'd better come in," Mrs. Atwater called, her voice necessarily louder as the party moved onward. "Never mind!" Florence called back. Mrs. Atwater leaned out of the window. "Where are you going? Come back and get your hat.
"You' grampaw!" "What about grandpa?" said Herbert. "What'd he do last night?" "'Do'? Oh, me!" Then Mrs. Silver uttered sounds like the lowing of kine, whereby she meant to indicate her inability to describe Mr. Atwater's performance. "Well, ma'am," she said, in the low and husky voice of simulated exhaustion, "all I got to say: you' grampaw beat hisse'f! He beat hisse'f!" "How d'you mean?
You must go out instantly to Detroit, for I cannot leave our great interests at this juncture. It seems as if the very grave had opened for this!" Doctor Atwater's eyes were dim when he handed the papers back to his friend. "What could have goaded him on to his unhappy end! What stings and whiplashes of conscience! Let us go carefully over the whole matter together!
The strangely-assorted party were hurried through Breslau by the authorities, and Sergeant Breyman proudly wore Doctor Atwater's gold repeater as a parting present, when the train rushed away, bearing the secretly raging criminal back to a shameful death.
"I mean: Who does he belong to?" "Mus' be Miss Julia's. I reckon he is, so fur." "What! She knows I don't allow dogs on the place." "Yessuh." Mr. Atwater's expression became more outraged and determined. "You mean to say that somebody's trying to give her another dog after all I've been through with " "It look that way, suh." "Who did it?"
Are you sure it wasn't Noble Dill gave you these cats, Aunt Julia?" A look of weariness became plainly visible upon Miss Julia Atwater's charming face. "I do wish you'd hurry and grow up, Florence," she said. "I do, too! What for, Aunt Julia?" "So there'd be somebody else in the family of an eligible age.
Twenty is an unsuspicious age, except when it fears that its dignity or grace may be threatened from without; and it might have been a "bad sign" in revelation of Julia Atwater's character if she had failed to accept the muffled metallic clash of the front door's closing as a token that her niece had taken a complete departure for home.
While the chief of police arranged for the secret removal of Fritz Braun's body at night, there was an earnest conference in Atwater's stateroom. "I leave it to you, my brothers," she said, with a pretty blush, "to arrange for the complete rehabilitation of Randall Clayton's memory.
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