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Bixby is not here to talk to us " "Suppose we go and talk to him!" cried an officer. "He may hear us coming, and run away," said another. "Not if we go through the cave," suggested Tom. "I got into the cave, where Bunny and Sue found me, by going through a hole in Bixby's stable." "Then you'd better lead us through the cave," said Mr. Brown. "We may surprise the man at his tricks."
Bixby's particular attention were the wrinkles of his face. These were in all places where wrinkles should not be. One ran straight through the centre of his forehead, continuing the line of the nose upward to the hair. Two others, starting from the bridge of the nose, ran diagonally down to the nostrils. He was close-shaven, and his lips were straight and thin.
Bixby's partner, the other pilot, presently grounded the boat, and we lost so much time in getting her off that it was plain that darkness would overtake us a good long way above the mouth. This was a great misfortune, especially to certain of our visiting pilots, whose boats would have to wait for their return, no matter how long that might be. It sobered the pilot-house talk a good deal.
"When did you get in, Fred? And what have you come for?" Archie gave him a quizzical glance. "I've come to find out what you think you're doing out here," the younger man declared emphatically. "I want to get next, I do. When can you see me?" "Anything on to-night? Then suppose you dine with me. Where can I pick you up at five-thirty?" "Bixby's office, general freight agent of the Burlington."
Educated at Franklin Academy, Malone; Packer Institute, Brooklyn, and Smith College. Married, 1894. First short story, "The Grek Collie," Scribner's Magazine, July, 1903. Author of "Roman Biznet" and "Interventions." Lives in New York City. *Bixby's Bridge. PERRY, LAWRENCE. Born in Newark, N. J., 1875. Educated in public and private schools.
Her pawn, which was far from unbecoming, was in keeping with those gifts with which nature had endowed her. She carried her head high, and bestowed swift and evidently fatal glances to right and left during her progress through the room. Mr. Bixby's voice roused the storekeeper from this contemplation of the beauty. "That's Alvy Hopkins of Gosport and his daughter. Fine gal, hain't she?
He studied faithfully when off watch and in port, and his old river note-book, still preserved, contains a number of advanced exercises, neatly written out. Still more interesting are the river notes themselves. They are not the timid, hesitating memoranda of the "little book" which, by Bixby's advice, he bought for his first trip.
Bixby's comments upon some of the innumerable details which Jethro had planned and quietly carried out while sitting, in the window of the Throne Room. A great light dawned on William Wetherell, but too late. The seats of these members at the theatre had been filled by accommodating townspeople and visitors.
"How did you work it?" "Sent Chauncey through the deestrict," said Mr. Hartington. Mr. Chauncey Weed had, in truth, gone through a part of the congressional district of the Honorable Heth Sutton with a little leather bag. Mr. In this way Mr. Bixby's regiment, Sutton was the honorary colonel, had been attacked in the rear and routed.
Bixby's occupation is gone now. We have changed all that, and we are ruled from imperial Rome. It was Isaac D. Worthington or shall we say Mr. Flint? who was responsible for this pernicious change for the worse, who conceived the notion of leasing for the Truro the Central and the Northwestern, thus making one railroad out of the three. If such a gigantic undertaking could be got through, Mr.
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