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Updated: June 3, 2025
He spoke wistfully of a sudden leaving, a breaking of old ties, a flight into a strange world, ending in this dreary valley, and Ettie listened, her dark eyes gleaming with pity and with sympathy those two qualities which may turn so rapidly and so naturally to love. McMurdo had obtained a temporary job as bookkeeper; for he was a well-educated man.
Dick moved away, for the bookkeeper was approaching, with a look of concern on his face. "Say, Winslow, do you know, the porter was telling me just now that he believes he saw that bank examiner in town last night. I told him he must have been mistaken, but he vowed he was positive.
The hearts that pass by the jobs they are fitted for, to eat themselves out struggling to do what they think they're fitted for." "You're a fatalist." "Not at all. The way to know the reach of your arm is to sprain it. I sprained mine, and it wasn't until the ligaments began to pull that I had the courage to face the fact that I was made out of bookkeeper instead of concert-pianist stuff."
Perhaps it did, but so far as talk was concerned a very different fact ruled as first favorite. It was known all over the barracks by breakfast time that Case, the bookkeeper, had bluffed out the young swell from the Columbia who had come down to teach them how to play poker and fight Apaches.
Robert mentioned his intended fishing-trip the old man woke up and rose from his bed at twelve o'clock, declaring he must go down to the bank and fetch the pass-book of the Sons and Daughters, which he had forgotten to bring home. The bookkeeper had balanced it for him that day, put the cancelled checks in it, and snapped two elastic bands around it. He put but one band around other pass-books.
All that day, and indeed for several days, Albert had noted in the little bookkeeper certain symptoms, familiar symptoms they were and from experience the young man knew what they portended.
They smoked and talked books until nearly two. Then Laban insisted upon his guest departing. "I'm all right, Al" he declared, earnestly. "I am honest yes, yes, I am. I'll go to sleep like a lamb, yes indeed." "You'll be at the office in the morning, won't you, Labe?" The little bookkeeper nodded. "I'll be there," he said. "Got to answer roll call the first mornin' after enlistment. Yes, yes.
By this time nearly all our heads were touching over the table, except the one they called the bookkeeper, who had run for a chart. "Did he call the island by any particular name?" inquires Mr. Phelps. "I think he said Pleasant Island," says Tom, "because I mind the old gentleman saying it must be a pleasant place with such a name and I said I had been there, but the holding ground was poor."
Farley by a broad fortnight or more, the bookkeeper missed other of his meals, and one night fear and a sharp premonition of close-pressing disaster laid cold hands on him; and nine o'clock found him skulking in the great train shed at the railway station, a ticket to Canada in his pocket, a goodly sum of the company's money tightly buckled in a safety-belt next to his skin all things ready for flight save one, the courage requisite to the final step-taking.
The clerks who worked in the same room with him, may know him better.. I know only that he was a very reserved man and very little liked." "Then I do not need to detain you any longer, nor to trouble you further in this affair. I thank you for coming to us so promptly. It has been of great assistance." The bookkeeper left the station, but Mrs.
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