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Updated: May 27, 2025
"Was n't that thunder, Grace?" asked Mrs. Breen, with the accent by which she implicated her daughter in whatever happened. "Yes," said Grace, from where she sat at her window, looking seaward, and waiting tremulously for her mother's next question. "Where is Mrs. Maynard?" "She is n't back, yet." "Then," said Mrs. Breen, "he really did expect rough weather."
Furthermore, the Breen Diary and the death-list of the Donner Party show that not a husband or father died at the Lake Camp during the entire period of the party's imprisonment in the mountains.
With a little cry of joy Peter sprang to his feet, both palms outstretched: "Oh! you're here at last! Didn't I say nine o'clock, my dear boy, or am I wrong? Well, so you are here it's all right." Then with face aglow he turned to MacFarlane: "Henry, here's a young fellow you ought to know; his name's John Breen, and he's from your State."
Breen waited until Jack had closed the door, pulled from a pigeon-hole a bundle of papers labelled Maryland Mining Company, touched another button summoning his stenographer, and said in a low voice to himself: "Yes, I have it! Something is going on in that ore property. I'll write and find out."
"That is Professor Hastings of Yale," I replied "perhaps the most eminent chemist in this or any other country." "And what did he do when he was a boy?" asked young Breen. "Made pills, I expect, and washed out test tubes and retorts," interrupted Peter, with a look on his face as if the poor professor were more to be pitied than commended. "Did any of them dig?" asked the boy.
"If anything happened to them," her mother continued, "I should feel terribly for you." "I should feel terribly for myself," Grace responded, with her eyes still seaward. "Where do you think they went?" "I did n't ask," said the girl. "I wouldn't," she added, in devotion to the whole truth. "Well, it is all of the same piece," said Mrs. Breen. Grace did not ask what the piece was.
My father was Judge Breen," answered Jack with embarrassment. He had not yet become accustomed to the novelty of the scene around him. "Now I know just where you belong. My father and yours were friends. I have often heard him speak of Judge Breen. And did you not meet my daughter at Miss Grayson's the other day? She told me she had met a Mr. Breen from our part of the country."
Breen was her cult, and she was apt to lie in wait for her idol, to beam upon it with her suggestive eyes, and evidently to expect it to say or do something remarkable, but not to suffer anything like disillusion or disappointment in any event.
Johnson made a detour on his way to the main-rigging, and muttered: "Say the word, sir, and I 'll chance it. No jury'd convict." "No, no; go aloft, Johnson. I'm all right," answered Breen, as he bent over the distasteful task. Johnson climbed the rigging to the main-royalyard, which he was to scrape for reoiling, and had no sooner reached it than he sang out: "Sail oh! Dead ahead, sir.
Didn't she send you word she was goin' to be in this with Ronald Breen?" "Me?" says he. "No." "That's funny," says I. "She told me weeks ago. I hear she's pulling down an even hundred and fifty a week. By next season she'll be starrin'." "And to think," moans out Lester, "that I passed her up only a few months ago!"
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