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Tenants were not introduced to each other, and one could live a year within its walls without being obliged to say good morning to any one, with the possible exceptions of the housekeeper, or the elevator man, but that was not compulsory, but depended upon the tenant's initiative. Every hotel has an "out"; at the "Cawthorne" it was an "in." The "in" was Mr.
Then Little Cawthorne rose and squared valiantly up to him. "What," inquired the little man indignantly, "are you trying to do? Pick a fight?" St. George looked at him in surprise. "Because if you are," continued little Cawthorne without preamble, "we're three to one. And three of us are going to Yaque. We'll put you ashore if you say so." St. George smiled at him gratefully.
On stormy days, or when their inclinations so prompted, the tenants could have meals served in their rooms at a marked increase over hotel rates. But the "Cawthorne" was exclusive, and for that reason, principally, Miss Dana had chosen it as her city domicile.
"It is either the Koh-i-noor or an exact duplicate," said Mr. Czenki. "It is the Koh-i-noor," repeated Mr. Cawthorne doggedly. "Id seems to me," interposed Mr. Schultze, "dat if der Koh-i-noor vas missing somebody would haf heard, ain'd id? I haf nod heard. Mr. Czenki made a misdake der oder day maybe you make id to-day?" "You have made a mistake, I assure you, Mr. Cawthorne," remarked Mr.
What do you make of it?" he repeated. St. George did not answer, and every one else did. "Mistaken identity," said Little Cawthorne. "Do you remember Provin's story of the woman whose maid shot a masseuse whom she took to be her mistress; and the woman forgave the shooting and seemed to have her arrested chiefly because she had mistaken her for a masseuse?"
"My name is Roderick Cawthorne, I'm a subaltern in the British army, and I came over to help put down the rebels, in accordance with my duty to my king and country. All this land is under our rule." "Do you think so?" asked Henry. "Do you think that this wilderness, which extends a thousand miles in every direction, is under your rule?"
"Am I happy?" affirmed Little Cawthorne ecstatically in four tones, and went on with his song: "The daylight may do for the gay, The thoughtless, the heartless, the free, But there's something about the moon's ray That is sweeter to you and to me." "Did you make that up?" inquired Amory with polite interest. "I did if I want to," responded Little Cawthorne.
Dallas the Hints from Horace, which he intended to have brought out by the publisher Cawthorne. Of this performance an inferior edition, relieved by a few strong touches, of the Bards and Reviewers Dallas ventured to express his disapproval.
"No Bennietod?" inquired Little Cawthorne. Bennietod, pale and manifestly weak, grinned cheerfully and fumbled in sudden abashment at an amazing checked Ascot which he had derived from unknown sources. "Bes' t'ing t'ever I met up wid," he assented, "ef de deck'd lay down levil. I'm de sonny of a sea-horse if it ain't." "Amory?" demanded the little man.
"Two weeks ago to-night," he said, running his hands through his grey curls, "I took the night desk when Ellis was knocked out. And two weeks ago to-morrow morning we were the only paper to be beaten on the Fownes will story. Hi you." "Happy, Cawthorne?" Amory removed his pipe to inquire with idle indulgence.
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