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Despite his sufferings poor Wilkins rejoiced that night with his comrades at their good fortune, and it was long before he or they could cease to talk over future plans and take needful rest. At length Buckley rolled himself in his blanket, and lay down. "Poor fellow," said Jack, seeing Watty wince a little, "does it hurt much?" "Yes, rather, but I'll be all right to-morrow.
Buckley, referring to Sam. "But one must not be premature. They are both very young, and may not know their own minds." "They seem as if they did," said Mrs. Mayford. "Look there!" Outside the window they saw something which gave Mrs. Buckley a sort of pang, and made Mrs. Mayford laugh.
"By the way," Desmond remarked, as he dissected a fowl, cooked by the mercy of the gods in that elusive interval between toughness and putrescence, the pursuit of which gives to hot-weather housekeeping an excitement peculiarly its own, "there's bad news from the Infantry camp this morning. Poor old Buckley. A cramp seizure at midnight.
"Hurrah! Pawnee has killed him." "Talk about yer bull fighters! They ain't in it with Pawnee!" "Yer saved my life," exclaimed Clemmer, who had risen. "I shan't forget yer, Pawnee," and he held out his broad hand for a shake. The bull dead, Pawnee Brown called Buckley up and gave him a lecture for not having killed the vicious beast long ago.
Luckily my searchlight had not been taken out of my pocket, and soon I had the place well enough lighted to determine where I was. I also found something else; I found Mr. Buckley in the same condition that I had been in unconscious. Mr. Buckley can tell you the rest." "There's absolutely nothing for me to tell," Mr.
"I mean, my dear, does he suppose that it will come here? Are we likely to have it?" "He tells us, what I suppose you hear from Mr Grey, that the fever seems to be spreading everywhere, and is just now very destructive at Buckley. Does not Mr Grey tell you so?" "No, indeed; there is no learning anything from Mr Grey that he does not like to tell.
Leave them with widow Buckley, and I can find them there." It was so arranged. Fergus went on his way, as did Reilly and the bishop. The latter conducted him to the house of a middling farmer, whose son the bishop had sent, at his own expense, to a continental college.
Great crowds of black and white cockatoos raised their incessant clamour at the first strokes of the axe; but soon the hillside was clear, and man had taken permanent possession of the spot. William Buckley.# Meanwhile a circumstance had happened which favoured Batman's party in no small degree.
The morning passed somewhat heavily, as a morning is apt to do, after sitting up late and drinking punch. Towards noon Desborough said, "Now, if anybody will confess that he drank just three drops too much punch last night, I will do the same. Mrs. Buckley, my dear lady, I hope you will order plenty of pale ale for lunch."
Her mouth, too, was large, with the lips full, and she had white teeth. Duane took her proffered hand and remarked frankly that he was glad to meet her. Mrs. Bland appeared pleased; and her laugh, which followed, was loud and rather musical. "Mr. Duane Buck Duane, Euchre said, didn't he?" she asked. "Buckley," corrected Duane. "The nickname's not of my choosing."
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