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Updated: June 26, 2025
Badger's; 'twas the Wellmouth poor farm, and he was a pauper. She was shocked, all right enough, but afore she had a chance to ask a question, he begun to tell her the story of his life. 'Twas a fine chance for him to spread himself, and I cal'late he done it to the skipper's taste.
"As I tells you, Coyote is little an' weak, an' he can no more move that hardened badger, nor yet fetch himse'f loose, than he can sprout wings an' soar. That badger's got Coyote; thar he holds him prone an' flat ag'in the ground for hours. An' at last Coyote swoons away.
Then, to the mortification of the sportsmen, the sounds of the conflict suggested another change: Brock was retiring leisurely to his chamber. The earth-drill was soon put into play, and the badger's position discovered, but directly afterwards the animal again moved, this time to the deep "oven" below.
I hain't nussed and watched and sot up nights sixty years for nothin'. I can see beyond what most folks can, her weddin' garments is bought and paid for, and she'll wear 'em, but she won't be Moses Pennel's wife, now you see." "Why, whose wife will she be then?" said Miss Ruey; "'cause that ar Mr. Adams is married. I saw it in the paper last week when I was up to Mis' Badger's."
The horse turned abruptly; I felt that something impelled me out, followed the impulse, saw Mrs. Badger's white cape fluttering above me, received a blow on the extremity of my spine that I thought would kill me before I reached the ground, landing, however, on my left hip, and quietly reclining on my left elbow, with my face to an upset buggy whose wheels spun around in empty air.
The upper half of his sharp, dogged visage seems of a brick-red leather, the brow of badger's fur, and, as he claps Drake on the back, with a broad Devon accent he shouts, 'Be you a-coming to drink your wine, Francis Drake, or be you not? saving your presence my lord. The lord high admiral only laughs, and bids Drake go and drink his wine, for John Hawkins, admiral of the fleet, is the patriarch of Plymouth seamen, if Drake is the hero.
It was signed ALFRED HAYNES BADGER, Pres., and he had an almost irresistible temptation to twist it into a spill and light a stogy with it. But he used a match instead, while Mrs. Effingham watched him apprehensively. Then he handed the stock back to her and poured out another glass of toddy. "Ever been in Mr. Badger's office?" "Oh, yes!" she answered. "It's a lovely office.
He could hear the musical clanking of hammers in Badger's smithy, on the next block, the deep-throated hoot-toot of the late afternoon train as it rushed down the valley, sounds of fierce altercation from the home of Pete Willing near by, a boy rattling a stick along palings down on Main Street.... But he did not hear anybody enter the store: absorbed with his task, he thought himself quite alone until a well-kenned voice reached his ear.
At the rate Hepworth was walking, he must now be well on his way to the lodge. The avenue swept away from the house in a grand curve. She knew of a path through the trees which would lead her straight to old Badger's lodge. It was shadowy and lonesome, but what did she care for that? No deer ever bounded down that path more lightly than Clara went.
Badger's testimony, for, as she ran on, a rattle of wheels and the thud of hoofs came from behind her. Then a rocking chaise, drawn by a galloping horse, shot by. Dr. Parker's carriage, she was sure. The Higgins boy must have met the doctor and delivered his message. The horse and chaise were standing by the front gate of the tavern as she pantingly drew near it.
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