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Updated: June 21, 2025
It was a good phrase and lights could play over it as they played over the colored stones, but it would in no way answer the problem of how to "get around" the Iowa's man patent on the hay loading device. Hugh did not get to the Butterworth farmhouse until two o'clock in the morning, but when he got there his wife was awake and waiting for him.
Why should I? Was I to leave a man on the verge of eighty excuse me, not every man of eighty is so hale and vigorous as yourself to enter such a scene alone? Besides, I had not warned him of the condition of the only other living occupant of the house." "Discreet, very. Quite what was to be expected of you, Miss Butterworth. More than that.
I have done nothing," he thought gloomily as his car climbed up a long street lined with the homes of the wealthier citizens of his town and turned into the short stretch of Medina Road still left between the town and the Butterworth farmhouse. On the day when he went to Pittsburgh, Hugh got to the station where he was to take the homeward train at three, and the train did not leave until four.
The third time he saw Jimmie Butterworth looking at him. "The barn is moving!" said Sunny Boy loud. And it was. The force of the water and the ice, driving against the poor worn out foundations, had loosened them, and the old barn was actually sailing. The boys ran to the door. All around them was water, water and ice. The barn began to rock and to lean to one side a little.
His habits were good, his industry indefatigable, his common sense and good nature unexampled. Everybody liked Jim. To be sure, he was rough and uneducated, but he was honorable and true. He would make a good "provider." Miss Butterworth might have gone further and fared worse. On the whole, it was a good thing; and they were glad for Jim's sake and for Miss Butterworth's that it had happened.
Francis was still wearing his scarecrow-like apparel, while Desmond, with his beard and pale face and bandaged head, looked singularly unlike the trim Brigade Major who had come home on leave only a week or so before. Matthews went out to meet them and, addressing the woman a brisk-looking person as Mrs. Butterworth, informed her that it was shocking weather. Then he led the way into the inn.
I did not understand in the least what he was talking about, but I recognized the sarcasm of his final expression, and had spirit enough to reply: "The subject is too important for any more nonsense. Whereabouts in Franklin Van Burnam's desk were these rings found, and how do you know that his brother did not put them there?" "Your ignorance is refreshing, Miss Butterworth.
Now why would not my mind subscribe to it? Had sentiment got the better of me, Amelia Butterworth, and was I no longer capable of looking a thing squarely in the face? Had the Van Burnams, of all people in the world, awakened my sympathies at the cost of my good sense, and was I disposed to see virtue in a man in whom every circumstance as it came to light revealed little but folly and weakness?
"I could not have reasoned better myself, madam. We shall have you on the force, yet." But at the familiarity shown by this suggestion, I bridled angrily. "I am Miss Butterworth," was my sharp retort, "and any interest I may take in this matter is due to my sense of justice." Seeing that he had offended me, the astute detective turned the conversation back to business.
Then Jim thought of the speeches he had heard in the town-meeting, and recalled the distress of Miss Butterworth, and the significance of all the scenes he had so recently witnessed. "Look 'ere, boy; can ye keep right 'ere," tapping him on his breast, "whatsomever I tell ye? Can you keep yer tongue still? hope you'll die if ye don't?"
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