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Updated: September 26, 2025
Bijah Bixby gazed with pardonable pleasure. "Guess there wahn't a mite of trouble about the river towns," he said, "I had 'em in my pocket. Will, let's amble round to the theatre. We ought to git in two acts." William Wetherell went. There is no need to go into the psychology of the matter.
Horace Bixby and George Ritchie have charted the crossings and laid out the courses by compass; they have invented a lamp to go with the chart, and have patented the whole. With these helps, one may run in the fog now, with considerable security, and with a confidence unknown in the old days.
Poor William Wetherell, who was quite overwhelmed by the fact that the great Mr. Duncan had actually read his letters and liked them, could scarcely utter a sensible word. Almost before he realized what had happened he was following Mr. Duncan out of the Pelican House, when the storekeeper was mystified once more by a nudge and another wink from Mr. Bixby, conveying unbounded admiration.
"I can take you back straight through the wood, or around by my cabin, which will put you on the road along which you went to get your milk that night. Then you'll have an easier walk to Camp Rest-a-While, though a little longer one." "Let's go by the road, though it is longer," said Sue. "I'm tired of walking in the woods." "All right, and I'll carry you part of the way," said Mr. Bixby.
From MRS. SARAH H. BIXBY, of Maine, Alternate Lady Manager. Chop one-half pound chicken quite fine; add one teaspoonful salt; one saltspoonful pepper; one saltspoonful celery salt; one teaspoon lemon juice; one tablespoon chopped parsley and a few drops of onion juice; moisten with the thick cream sauce.
Bixby. "Somethin' terrible pathetic was goin' on on the stage," resumed Mr. Hartington, "the folks didn't see him at first, they was all cryin' and everythin' was still, but Airley wahn't affected. As quick as he got his breath he hollered right out loud's he could: 'The Truro Bill's up in the House, boys.
In this historic cabinet there were five chairs, a marble-topped table, a pitcher of iced water, a bureau, a box of cigars and a Bible, a chandelier with all the gas jets burning, and a bed, whereon sat such dignitaries as obtained an audience, railroad presidents, governors and ex-governors and prospective governors, the Speaker, the President of the Senate, Bijah Bixby, Peleg Hartington, mighty chiefs from the North Country, and lieutenants from other parts of the state.
Bijah Bixby gazed with pardonable pleasure. "Guess there wahn't a mite of trouble about the river towns," he said, "I had 'em in my pocket. Will, let's amble round to the theatre. We ought to git in two acts." William Wetherell went. There is no need to go into the psychology of the matter.
Bixby should have left that poor fellow to kill the boat trying to find out where he was. But I resolved that I would stand by him any way. He should find that he was not wholly friendless. So I stood around, and waited to be asked where we were. But Mr. W plunged on serenely through the solid firmament of black cats that stood for an atmosphere, and never opened his mouth.
"You done well to git in with him, Will. Didn't think you had it in you when I first looked you over." Mr. Wetherell wished to make an indignant denial, but he didn't know exactly how to begin. "Smartest man in the United States of America guess you know that," Mr. Bixby continued amiably. "They can't git at him unless he wants 'em to.
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