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Updated: June 6, 2025
If only they talk loud enough and long enough, they feel that they are doing something valuable towards the desired end, and they find others, still weaker than themselves, who take their words at their own valuation. Who does not recall moments of the present war when the man-in-the-street has exclaimed, "That was a splendid speech of Blower's!
Oh, there's Ashley Greaves. Avoid him, like a dear, till I've looked at something." Ashley Greaves was the painter. There was nothing of the Bohemian about him. He looked like a heavy cavalry officer as he stood in the centre of the room talking to a small, sharp-featured old lady in a poke bonnet. "He's safe. Lady Blower's got hold of him." "Poor wretch! She ought to have a keeper.
And on this plan the three chums quickly agreed. When Tom Dillon heard about the light that had been seen and the determination to walk to it, he wanted to know how far off it was. "If it's that close we had better all go," he announced, after being told. "If it's Abe Blower's camp it must be in a good spot, for Abe knows this locality as good as I do and maybe better. A mile isn't so far.
Orcutt, perhaps, whose office was across the hall a tall, lean, spectacled man of fifty who looked like a schoolmaster. "Orcutt, what's the matter with the opener in Cooney's room?" "Why, the blower's out of order." "Well, whose fault is it?".... He knew every watchman and foreman in the mill, and many of the second hands.
"If that is Abe Blower's camp, and Merwell and Haskers are with him, I've got an idea." "What is that?" asked Roger. "Why not let Mr. Dillon go ahead alone, and find out what Merwell and Haskers have to say? We can sneak up in the darkness and show ourselves later." This was considered a good plan, and, after a short discussion, it was adopted.
As late as it was, it was decided to walk across town to where Abe Blower resided, and the three boys set out without delay. "I'd get a cab, if any was around," said Roger, who saw how tired Phil was. "Maybe, Phil, you had better go to bed and let Roger and me go to Blower's home," suggested Dave.
Soon the appetizing odor of freshly made coffee filled the air and all drew close, to have a cup, and to partake of some fried bacon and some of Abe Blower's famous flapjacks. "Them flapjacks made Abe a good friend," observed Tom Dillon, while eating. "They was the means o' introducing Maurice Harrison to him. Ain't that so, Abe?" And the old miner grinned broadly.
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