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Updated: June 25, 2025
He gave his right leg a congratulatory slap as he thought of it, and knocking the ashes from his pipe, went slowly up to bed. He was so amiable next morning that Mr. Bodfish, who was trying to explain to Mrs. Negget the difference between theft and kleptomania, spoke before him freely.
Negget glancing at frequent intervals toward the door, behind which she was convinced the servant was listening, and checking the finest periods and the most startling suggestions with a warning 'ssh! "Go on, uncle," she said, after one of these interruptions. "I forget where I was," said Mr. Martin Bodfish, shortly. "Under our bed," Mr. Negget reminded him. "Yes, watching," said Mrs.
Negget, affably. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, George," said his wife, angrily; "speaking to uncle when he's looking like that." Mr. Bodfish said nothing; it is doubtful whether he even heard these remarks; but he drew a huge notebook from his pocket, and after vainly trying to point his pencil by suction, took a knife from the table and hastily sharpened it.
The widow and Mr. Bodfish rose simultaneously. It required not the brain of a trained detective to know that the cheese was in the larder. The unconscious Mrs. Driver opened the door, and then with a wild scream fell back before the emerging form of Mr. Bodfish into the arms of Mrs. Clowes. The glass of Mr.
The widow and Mr. Bodfish rose simultaneously. It required not the brain of a trained detective to know that the cheese was in the larder. The unconscious Mrs. Driver opened the door, and then with a wild scream fell back before the emerging form of Mr. Bodfish into the arms of Mrs. Clowes. The glass of Mr.
He reached the back door at the same time as Mr. Bodfish, and placing his legs apart, held it firmly against the frantic efforts of the exconstable. The struggle ceased suddenly, and the door opened easily just as Mrs.
Bodfish affected the widow visibly, but its effect on the ex-constable nearly upset the bread-pan. "But here," continued Mr. Negget, with another glance at the larder, "he might go on like that for years. He's a wunnerful shy man big, and gentle, and shy. He wanted Lizzie to ask you to tea yesterday." "Now, Mr. Negget," said the blushing widow. "Do be quiet."
The builder had done his best to make the Mayeta serve for rowing and sailing a most difficult combination, and one not usually successful. On the morning of July 4, 1874, I entered the Basin of Quebec with my wooden canoe and my waterman, one David Bodfish, a "shoreman" of New Jersey. After weeks of preparation and weary travel by rail and by water, we had steamed up the Gulf and the River of St.
Bodfish looked from one to the other. "But you always keep yours on, Lizzie, don't you?" he asked. "Yes, of course," replied his niece, hurriedly; "but George has always got such strange ideas. Don't take no notice of him."
Bodfish, who was economizing space by sitting on the bread- pan, and trembling with agitation. "He's a lonely man," said Negget, shaking his head and glancing from the corner of his eye at the door of the larder. In his wildest dreams he had not imagined so choice a position, and he resolved to give full play to an idea which suddenly occurred to him. "I dare say," said Mrs.
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