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Updated: June 20, 2025
"I've took the basket er clothes-pins and lowered 'em down the well; I've took an hid Grandma Babson's best cap, 'cause she said 'That boy needs a lickin'. Want ter know where I put it? Up in the barnloft on the hay. I did somethin' else too. I put a wad er paper in the dinner horn. Won't they be mad when they try to blow it? I guess they'll be sorry they made me go ter school."
When they reached the farm-house the young moon and the great evening star were low in a wash of turquoise above misty meadows; frogs sang; Una promised herself a long and unworried sleep; and the night tingled with an indefinable magic. She was absolutely, immaculately happy, for the first time since she had been ordered to take Walter Babson's dictation. §
"Bang!" went Babson's gavel just as Mr. Tutt was leading Mr. Walsh, Mr. Tompkins and the others through the winding paths of the Argonne forests with tin helmets on their heads in the struggle for liberty. "You may conclude your address in the morning, Mr. Tutt," said the judge with supreme unction. "Adjourn court!" Gray depression weighed down Mr. Tutt's soul as he trudged homeward.
You all know who Babson is, the biggest stock-market advertiser in the country. Well, Babson's vanity is to be a great man outside of his own line. He owns a big country place down East, near the old town of Singatuck; one of the oldest towns on the coast. Babson is as new as Singatuck is old. The people didn't care much about his patronizing ways.
She was finding in his loud impudence a twisted resemblance to Walter Babson's erratic excitability, and that won her, for love goes seeking new images of the god that is dead.
Nothing seemed to hurt him, he was so strong. Then he would go back and drink more. Sunday afternoons were the big gambling and card-playing times in our semi-rural neighbourhood. The "boys" spent the day till dusk in the woods back of Babson's Hill. They drank and played cards. Landon taught me every card game there was. He could play the mouth-organ famously, too ... and the guitar and banjo.
Burleson would stop and sit down and have a long serious think about what fifty thousand Post Offices think. There have been days with my half-past two letters when if I had Roger Babson's gift for being graphic I would have charted Mr. I have wanted, before dropping the causes of people's being fooled about themselves, to dwell for a moment on lost-mindedness, or losing the end in the means.
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