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Updated: May 26, 2025
Barbara followed the lead of Blizzard's eyes, and saw that the street in front of his manufactory was empty. He reached for his crutches, and swung himself down from his chair. "Perhaps he's dropped down to Jake's saloon. Wait here. I'll see." The bell of the outer door clanged with horrid suddenness. And then she heard a piercing loud whistle twice repeated.
Of Rose, crouched under the key-board of the grand piano, her hands on the pedals, nothing could be seen, owing to a grouping of small palms and flowers in pots. The stump of Blizzard's right leg touched her shoulder. She was trembling. So was Blizzard. He was trembling with stage fright; she with Blizzard fright.
"I feel at home in your house," she said, "and happy." A cloud gathered in Blizzard's face. "Happiness!" he exclaimed. "There is no such thing neither for you, nor for me. The world is a torture-chamber, and remember, Rose, we are to be allies; we are to have no secrets from each other." She shrugged her shoulders. "That was what you said," she complained.
Without comment or preamble the youth who was to answer for her safety with his ears, began to talk. "Might have knocked me over with a feather," he said, "to find a lady like you sitting in a cab in front o' Blizzard's place.
They were stared at, it is true, and commented upon, but with awe now and childish admiration. The door of Blizzard's house was opened for them by Kid Shannon. "Why, Mr. Shannon," exclaimed Barbara, "I blew your whistle, and you never came." "And wasn't the whistling enough?" "Why, yes." He smiled the smile of a general who knows that his troops are in a state of perfect discipline.
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