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Updated: June 12, 2025
Britt flapped his hand, making light of the matter. He grinned. "I won't set you out as being the leader of a robber gang. I'm not like the peaked-billed old buzzards of this place bound to say the worst of every stranger. You'd better turn to and hate the critters here, just as I do." Britt's tones rasped when he said that; his feelings were getting away from him.
The examiner was too much taken up by other matters to bother with the Prophet, who held to his place at the vault door and was intently scrutinizing something which he found of interest. Vona forced herself through the press, in company with Starr, and was at Britt's elbow when he unlocked his office door. He tried to keep her out and called to Dorsey.
Britt's interest in the boys was as keen as her husband's, and it gave her great pleasure to have them about the house. Her home life had been very lonely since Jimmy went away, so the shouting of the scouts and their merry laughter brought back other days.
It was evident from President Britt's countenance that a great many emotions were struggling in him; but the prevailing expression the one which seemed to embrace all the modifications of his emotions indicated that he felt thoroughly sick.
She is very sensitive to influences, and at times when Clarke is near she grows almost as enthusiastic as he at other times she bitterly complains. I tried to free her from Clarke, but she wouldn't give me the authority necessary." "What do you mean by that?" There was something both sad and mocking in Britt's face as he answered: "I offered to marry her wasn't that generous of me?
If that's so, I'm waking up to the reason for it your grub has petrified me. My real friends have noticed it." Here was more of Britt's unwonted garrulity about his private concerns. "Some of those friends have taken pity on me. I have been invited to board with the Harnden family." Mr. Britt did not look around to note the effect of that piece of news. He gazed complacently up into the sunshine.
"Good morning, Usial," called Tasper. "I own up that you're a convincing writer. According to your request, you see I'm giving you your right name. The voters are giving you honors. Who knows what another issue of The Hornet may get for you?" Britt's tone was one of bluff sincerity. Egypt's Pharaoh did not seem to be a bit put out because no one replied to him in this astonishing levee.
The village watchman noted that the reflector lamp shone all night on the door of the vault in the Egypt Trust Company; it was the watchman's business to keep track of that light. But he noted also, outside of his regular business, that there was a light for most of the night in Tasper Britt's bedroom.
How did it happen that Cashier Vaniman was holding on to his job? His townsfolk knew Britt's character pretty well, and they had much food for speculation in his case. There were some who ventured the suggestion that Hittie's remonstrating spirit had come to him in the night watches.
Jones and his associates scowled at the cashier, and Vaniman understood with added bitterness the extent of his vicarious atonement as Britt's mouthpiece at the wicket of the bank. "The interest-payers of this town have been well dreened. But the voters the voters, understand, still have assets. The voters have got to the point where they ain't afraid of Tasper Britt.
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