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Updated: May 12, 2025
Saunders, very much impressed by these confidences, bowed himself out of the room, followed by Britt, of whom he implored help in the effort to bring about a reconciliation. He was sorely distressed by Britt's apparent reluctance to compromise the case without mature deliberation. "You see, old chap," mused Deppingham, after their departure, "matrimony is no trifling thing, after all.
Britt's brain was a whirlpool of suggestions, tricks, subterfuges and yes, witticisms that Saunders never even pretended to appreciate, although he was obliging enough to laugh at the right time quite as often as at the wrong. "He talks about what Dan Webster said, how Dan Voorhees could handle a jury, why Abe Lincoln and Andy Jackson were so " Saunders would begin in a dazzled sort of way. "Mr.
The attention of Britt was diverted from the quarry he was pursuing. Outside Britt Block, Prophet Elias raised his voice in his regular "vesper service." It was his practice, on his way to Usial Britt's cottage from his daily domiciliary visits, to halt in front of the bank and deliver a few texts.
One morning in late March, while Serviss was still at his morning's mail, Dr. Britt's card came in, bringing with it instant, vivid recollection of Colorow. The beauty of his days there had by no means faded from his mind, although he had succeeded in putting his romance in the background of his working brain, and had given up all thought of ever seeing Viola again.
But she merely came and stood in the middle of the room and surveyed him with an uncompromising air of business. From the velvet toque, with just a suggestion of a coquettish cant on her brown curls, down her healthily round cheeks, a bit flushed, above the fur neckpiece that clasped her throat, Britt's fervent eyes strayed.
"Perhaps, then, it was the way the light fell on your face." He peered closely at his client. Mr. Britt's color was coming back. Orne's cryptic speeches and his haste to collect had warmed the banker's wrath. "It'll be ten dollars, as we agreed." Britt yanked a big wallet from his breast pocket, plucked out a bill, and shoved it at Orne.
She checked a chirrup of laughter and her smile faded when she opened her eyes on Britt's sourness. "There's a law about hectoring and insulting a female person on the street some kind of a law and we'll invoke it in this case," Britt insisted. "Why, Mr. Britt, he's only a harmless old man with extremely poor judgment about most things, including a girl's looks," she protested.
"You didn't have to go very far, hey, to find out how I stand for that nomination?" "I went far enough so that you can depend on what I tell you." "Go ahead and tell, then." Mr. Orne slowly fished a quill toothpick from the pocket of his overcoat, set the end of the quill in his mouth, and "sipped" the air sibilantly, gazing over Britt's head with professional gravity.
A bright glow lighted the dark mountain side, a vivid red painted the trees; the smell of burning wood came down with the breezes. Two or three sporadic shots were borne to the ears of those who looked toward the blazing bungalow. "They've killed Chase!" burst from the stiff lips of Bobby Browne. "Damn them!" came up from below in Britt's hoarse voice.
Now a voter gets into that booth and has to caucus by himself, and he's either so puffed up by importance that he thinks he's the whole party or else " Mr. Britt's patience was ground between the millstones of anger and indigestion. He smacked the flat of his hand on his desk.
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