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Updated: June 12, 2025
"I guess it's kind of lettin' up," said Mrs. Babcock. "This is a nice house you've got here, ain't it, Mis' Field?" "Yes, 'tis," replied Jane Field. "I s'pose there was a good deal of nice furniture in it, wa'n't there?" "Considerable." "Was there nice beddin'?" "Yes." "I s'pose there was plenty of table-cloths an' such things? Have you bought any new furniture, Mis' Field?"
McDonald, the supervisor of the St. Louis revenue district, was the leader of the Whiskey Ring. He lavished gifts upon President Grant, who, with an amazing indifference and innocence, accepted such favors from all kinds of sources. Orville E. Babcock, the President's private secretary, who possessed the complete confidence of the guileless general, was soon enmeshed in the net of investigation.
Sometimes when a chunker captain, waiting to unload, shoves a few tons aboard a sneak-boat at night, Tom will spot him every time. They try to fool her into indorsing their bills of lading in full, but it don't work for a cent." "You call her Tom Grogan?" Babcock asked, with a certain tone in his voice. He resented, somehow, Crane's familiarity. "Certainly. Everybody calls her Tom Grogan.
A strapping young fellow in a red shirt came out of the stable door leading two other horses to the trough. Babcock looked about him in surprise at the extent of the establishment. He had supposed that his stevedore had a small outfit and needed all the work she could get. If, as McGaw had said, only boys did Grogan's work, they at least did it well. Crane mounted the porch first and knocked.
That he was highly esteemed in the town is apparent from these facts as well as from a memorial of Robert Babcock, one of the selectmen of Milton. He feelingly alludes to the loss in these words: "Captain Wadsworth being departed from us, whose face we shall see here no more." Capt.
Something worried Babcock. One could see that from the impatient gesture with which he turned away from the ferry window on learning he had half an hour to wait. He paced the slip with hands deep in his pockets, his head on his chest. Every now and then he stopped, snapped open his watch and shut it again quickly, as if to hurry the lagging minutes.
The other, though unhurt, was thin and bony, the yarn stocking wrinkling over the shrunken calf. Beside him stood a big billy-goat, harnessed to a two-wheeled cart made of a soap-box. As Babcock stepped aside to let the boy pass he heard Cully shouting in answer to the little cripple's cries. "Cheese it, Patsy. Here's Pete Lathers comin' down de yard. Look out fer Stumpy.
She was jest kind of run down with the spring weather. Young girls wilt down dreadful easy, an' spring up again. I've seen 'em. 'Twa'n't nothin'." "Well, I dunno; she looked dreadfully," Mrs. Green said, with mild opposition. "Well, you can see how much it amounted to," returned Mrs. Babcock, with a triumphant sniff.
She felt as free as air. The secret that had weighed her down for years was off her mind. What she had whispered to her own heart she could now proclaim from the housetops. Even the law protected her. Babcock walked beside her, silent and grave. She seemed to him like some Joan with flaming sword. When they reached the road that led to her own house, her eyes fell upon Jennie and Carl.
It's nothin'; I'll be all right in a day or two. I've been hurted before, but not so bad as this. I wouldn't have troubled ye, but Mr. Crane has gone West. It was kind and friendly o' ye to come; I knew ye would." Babcock nodded to Pop, and sank into a chair. The shock of her appearance had completely unnerved him. "Jennie has told me about it," he said in a tender, sympathetic tone.
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