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Updated: April 30, 2025
Dolly bent her pretty head in reluctant assent, with a torrent of inner joy. The sun flashed in her chestnut hair. The triumph of that moment was to her inexpressible. But as for Walter Brydges, he seized the blushing face boldly in his two brown hands, and imprinted upon it at once three respectful kisses. Then he drew back, half-terrified at his own temerity.
"Say," he yelled up, "you can use the same old cartoon; 'Keep Off the Grass, you know." "Eh? right," crossly from the front room. "And say?" The news-man came out and leaned over the upper railing. "Don't forget to take that tonic for your nerves." The news-man told Bat to go any where he pleased; but it was all in the day's work with Mr. Bat Brydges. He didn't go.
When Brydges looked fearfully over the bank, the Indian woman had crushed below the log; and Moyese lay very still, his face to the sky, his left hand in his pocket, his right hand thrown out as if to ward a blow, gashed and bloody, whether from rock or knife cut, one could not tell.
When Matthews looked up, the slant of the shaft had cut off the sky. Brydges didn't bother clambering out of the bucket. He was silent and kept hold of the dependent cable. Suddenly, there was a rumble as of the hoist flying backward, then the whip lash of a taut rope snapping, and the cable whirled down in a coil round Brydges' head. "Gee whiz! This is a pretty mess!
Oh, to be young again an' not spill life in wassail! to give the blows for right instead of wrong! Man, what a view y' have here what a view! Minds me of the days A was bridge building in the Rockies " "Then you've been in these mountains before?" asked Brydges; but the old frontiersman refused to take the bait and rambled on in his reverie. "What a view! Th' vera kingdom of earth at y'r feet!
What kind of rule are you going to get from that kind of rulership if some one doesn't jump in and group it and direct it; yes, by George, and compel it to keep in line and vote right, just as a general licks his recruits in shape on pain of court martial? Think any battle would ever be won, Brydges, if the commanding officer hadn't the power of a despot? He makes mistakes.
"They seem to be riding away to a world of dreams," said the little lady in black. Mr. Bat Brydges and Senator Moyese walked slowly and reflectively past the Range Cabin towards the charred burn and timber slash of O'Finnigan's abandoned homestead. "It's that damned rant the old fellow let off in the court room," said Brydges. "Rant doesn't win elections, Brydges! It has to be fought out!
In the "Autobiography of Sir Egerton Brydges" we find the following passage: it is characteristic of the man: "I remember Jane Austen, the novelist, a little child. Her mother was a Miss Leigh, whose paternal grandmother was a sister of the first Duke of Chandos. Mr. Austen was of a Kentish family, of which several branches have been settled in the Weald, and some are still remaining there.
Moyese dropped the map and the pencil and his heavy hand with a thud on the desk and laughed noiselessly down into the creases of his fat double chin and into the wrinkling rotundity of his white vest. "And to cinch it," continued Brydges, "as the fellow's permit didn't cover the Gully, I got some blanket railway scrip for an Irishman, O'Finnigan, Shanty Town, and planked it on the Gully.
Call for you to-night at five; but don't you play that story up." It was then and there Bat showed himself a past master. He sauntered out of the office humming. "Say, Brydges," called the youth, "what's wrong with this account, anyway?" "All wrong," reiterated Brydges stepping back. "Wasn't a man lost his life. Wasn't a man on the Range at the time, only a kid got in the way of a stampede!
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