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Updated: May 22, 2025
That greeting of Bangs's added the final notes to the minor symphony life was playing for him this morning. As he lay back in the hot water, relaxing his stiff, bruised body, the thought came that possibly he and Rodney were really approaching the final breaking-point. Bangs was not ordinarily a patient chap. He was too impetuous and high-strung for that.
One boot heel was missing and his foot was jammed through the stirrup, evidence that the horse had pitched with him and the loosened heel had come off, allowing his foot to slip through as he was thrown. Harris pointed to a burnt red streak across the right side of Bangs's neck. He unbuttoned his shirt and revealed a similar streak under his left armpit.
Bangs's invitation to visit Florida with him were in a whirl of excitement, for to these untravelled people the journey from Maine to Florida seemed but little less of an undertaking than a journey around the world. At length everything was ready, and the Nancy Bell only awaited her passengers.
Next day it was agreed that we should all return to Kingston, and the day after that, we proceeded to Mr Bangs's Pen, on the Spanish Town road, as a sort of halfway house, or stepping stone to his beautiful residence in St Thomas in the Vale, where we were all invited to spend a fortnight.
"Nothin'; nothin'. I don't care; I was only tryin' to fix things comf'table for Whit. Has Heman said anything about the harbor appropriation sence he's been home? I haven't heard of it if he has." Mr. Bangs's answer was a grunt, signifying a negative. Congressman Atkins had been, since his return to Bayport, exceedingly noncommittal concerning the appropriation.
Bangs's answer was in the form of delicate sarcasm, bellowed into the ear trumpet. "Sho!" he exclaimed. "I want to know! You don't say! Now you mention it, seems as if I had noticed a little air stirrin'." Another gust tilted the carriage top. Debby clutched the arm still tighter. "Why, it blows awful hard!" she cried. "I'd no idee it blew like this."
Bangs's usually acute judgment was, in this instance, entirely wrong. So far from sleeping, the captain was just beginning to wake up. "Why haven't you written?" That meant that John had never received the letter which Gertrude wrote, the letter which she had given him her father to post. Why had it not been received? It had been posted. He gave it to the carrier with his own hands.
"I was helping that little Irishman that was getting the life choked out of him." Mr. Bangs's mouth became a hard, straight line. "Then I take it you sympathize with the strikers?" "I don't know whether I do or not," Quin declared stoutly. "I don't know anything about it.
Bangs's orders not only in the factory but in the Bartlett household as well. He tossed restlessly on his pillow. If only that woman would stop crying, perhaps he could get a better line on the thing! But she did not stop, and somehow while she cried he could see nothing good in Bangs or what he stood for.
And now get out of here, both of you; I want to take a nap." Thus it was that, an hour later, the new colored butler was carrying the papers back to Bartlett & Bangs's, and Mr. Randolph's new secretary was sawing wood in Madam Bartlett's cellar. It was a humble beginning, but he whistled jubilantly as he worked.
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