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He felt the superiority of his years and presumably his wisdom over the younger man. Despite the fact that Mr. Broxton Day had early gone away from Polktown, and had been deemed very successful in point of wealth in the Middle West, Uncle Jason considered him still a boy, and his ventures in business and in mining as a species of "wild oat sowing," of which he could scarcely approve.
Strout to take it back. Strout said by making the transfer he would be aiding both Mr. Jamison and me." And now a change was coming. Since the transfer Mullen Lane property had begun to look up. A factory was going to be built in the vicinity, and that part of Greensboro was likely to offer a better field for real estate operations. Broxton Day knew all this, which Mrs. Carringford did not.
From this last trouble the Broxton and Hayslope farmers, on their pleasant uplands and in their brook-watered valleys, had not suffered, and as I cannot pretend that they were such exceptional farmers as to love the general good better than their own, you will infer that they were not in very low spirits about the rapid rise in the price of bread, so long as there was hope of gathering in their own corn undamaged; and occasional days of sunshine and drying winds flattered this hope.
Her heart was not always attuned to the hilarity of her companions; but she did not allow herself to become morose, or sad, in public. Yet the gnawing worriment about her father was in her mind continually. It was an effort for her to be lively and cheerful when the fate of Mr. Broxton Day was so uncertain. Her more thoughtful comrades realized the girl's secret feelings.
I can't stand alone in this way any longer." The Tidings ADAM turned his face towards Broxton and walked with his swiftest stride, looking at his watch with the fear that Mr. Irwine might be gone out hunting, perhaps. The fear and haste together produced a state of strong excitement before he reached the rectory gate, and outside it he saw the deep marks of a recent hoof on the gravel.
He was dreaming of the packet of letters the letters that were so precious to Broxton Day. In the secret compartment of the lost treasure-box. In the fever of the man's brain nothing else seemed so important to him as his lost wife's letters!
"Or, mebbe he'll put a back-saddle on fer yer. I've seen 'em ride double at Middletown." "I don't like motorcycles. I want a wide seat and more comfort," said Janice. "Daddy said that, perhaps, if things went well with him down there in Mexico, I could have an auto runabout," and she sighed. "Now, Miss Janice!" exclaimed the man, "don't you take on none. Mr. Broxton Day'll come out all right.
Somebody that respects herself too much to be called a servant. Of course it's hard to find the right party. "However, some women can do it. And that is the kind you need, Broxton Day. Somebody who will be firm with your girl, here, too."
And the Day household really, if not visibly, was in mourning for Broxton Day. Uncle Jason's face was as "long as the moral law," and Aunt 'Mira, lachrymose at best, was now continuously and deeply gloomy. Marty was the only person in the Day household able to cheer Janice in the least. 'Rill and Hopewell were in deep waters, too.
The Day cottage was a mile and a half from the Six Corners and the Farmers & Merchants Bank in which Mr. Broxton Day held an important salaried position. Besides his house and his situation in the bank, Mr. Day considered another of his possessions very important indeed, although he did not list it when he made out his tax return.
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