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Updated: May 12, 2025
But ere he had got his mouth into its singing place in his left cheek, Hester had risen and begun to speak: when she knew what had to be done, she never hesitated. Mr. Blaney started, and his mouth, after a moment of elliptic suspense, slowly closed, and returned, as he listened, to a more symmetrical position in his face.
He was naturally a steady, humdrum sort of man, but he was planning to do an audacious thing. His chance had come, and he meant to take it. At last, just before supper time, he resolutely locked his office, and started out to see Blaney. He hesitated a second or two before the contractor's house; then he ran up the steps and rang the bell.
I'm afraid it'll be a long time afterward. How do you know they aren't playing us for suckers?" "How do we know?" repeated Blaney. "I'm not quite as green as you think. I know because I've got it down in black and white. They can't get around a contract like that." Unlocking a drawer in his desk, he drew out a sheet of paper which he thrust into Bridge's hands. "Read it," he said.
"That can be fixed." Williams, one of the other two, leaned over the table. "We ain't fools enough to go up against Jim Weeks," he said. "Don't worry about Weeks," replied McNally, "I can take care of him." "Who are you buying for?" asked Blaney. McNally looked thoughtfully at the three men, then said quietly: "I am buying for C. & S.C. Jim Weeks is all right, but he can't hold out against us."
'Bedad, and it's him has the foine nose for turkey! said Blaney, a good-natured, jovial Irishman. 'Yes, or for pay-day, more like, said Keefe, a black-browed, villainous fellow-countryman of Blaney's, and, strange to say, his great friend. Big Sandy M'Naughton, a Canadian Highlander from Glengarry, rose up in wrath.
With soldierly erectness he walked out of the bar, across the lobby, and into the writing room. Jim was writing at a desk and did not look up as Blaney entered, so the contractor went round behind him and dropped his hand heavily on Jim's shoulder. "I want to talk to you," he said fiercely. Jim looked up as if to see who it was, and then turned back to his writing. "Well, talk away," he said.
There was no snowstorm ready for Elsie to steal out into, drawing her little red woollen shawl about her shoulders, but she went out, regardless of the unities. And as for the red shawl back to Blaney with it! Elsie's fall tan coat was cheap, but it had the style and fit of the best at Fox & Otter's.
'Good heavens! what is the matter? exclaimed Cecilia, who knew very well what was coming. 'Oh, the wretch! he has made such proposals! 'Proposals! what proposals? what! Lord Blaney? cried Miss Ossulton. 'Oh, he's no lord! he's a villain and a smuggler! and he insists that we shall both fill our pockets full of lace, and go on shore with him. 'Mercy on me!
If old Blaney is such a stickler for regulations they'll never let us fight any fires in this town. Tough luck, isn't it?" Tournament day had been declared a holiday in Woodbridge. Stores and factories were closed and the village decorated from stable to Town Hall with colored streamers, flags and bunting.
At eleven o'clock Jim walked into the lobby of the Illinois House, lighted a cigar at the news stand, nodded familiarly to the clerk, and passed on into the writing room. The clerk said to a bell-boy, "Go into the bar and tell Mr. Blaney that Jim Weeks is here."
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