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Updated: June 24, 2025
"You've decided to go, then," said Harrington. turning around to walk back with him. "That's right. We'll have oceans of fun. We'll meet Stout and Cheever in New York, and we can just paint the town, I tell you." Rex was not certain that he would do any town painting. He would be quite content to be in Harrington's company.
The maid had needed only one motion. Cheever watched Zada out of the corner of his eye and wondered why he had ever been fated to fall in love with such a creature. He was convinced that he had been fate-forced into the intrigue. He had no sense whatever of volition or wicked intent. He could only feel that he had tried to be decent and play fair and be generous.
She's made a man of that good-for-nothing Peter Cheever. They're as happy and as thick as thieves." Charity had heard this saying, and she dreaded to realize that perhaps in a few days respectable people would be turning from herself, not seeing her, or storing up credit by snubbing her and muttering: "No wonder poor Cheever couldn't get along with her.
Last night it had come over her that her love for Peter Cheever was dead. Was love itself, then, dead for her? or was her heart already busy down there in the dark of her bosom, busy like a seed germinating some new lily or fennel to thrust up into the daylight? The sublime and the ridiculous are as close together as the opposite sides of a sheet of cloth.
After all, marriage is only the formalizing of an instinct that existed long before exists in some animals and birds who mate without formality and stay mated without compulsion. When Zada and Cheever had escaped from the Ritz-Carlton they took lunch at another restaurant. Zada was childishly proud of her tact and of Cheever's appreciation.
He was so engaged in this employ that we did not disturb him but quietly slipped away and reported the case to John Cheever. That guardian of the peace immediately trotted off to the kitchen, gathered up a plate of food and rushed out to the diet reformer, exclaiming: "Here is your supper! No one need go hungry at Brook Farm."
Gora had been opposed to her brother leaving the firm of Cheever Harrison and Cheever, where, beyond question, he would be head of a department in time and safely anchored for life; but he had taken the step, and she reasoned that he must have a considerable knowledge of a business with which he had been associated for fourteen years, she knew his energy and powers of application, and she resented the attitude of "the family."
It was the best of all possible clubs, and he supposed that he would be expelled for profaning its sacrosanctity with a vulgar brawl. But anything was better than cold feet. Finally his hundredth glance at the door revealed Jim Dyckman. He was a long way off, but he looked bigger than Cheever remembered him. Also he was calmer than Cheever had hoped him to be, and not drunk, as he half expected.
Cheever reached up and swept his nose and mouth clear of gore then shot his reeking fist into Dyckman's heart as if he would drive it through. It was amazing to see Dyckman's answering swing batter Cheever forward to one knee. Habit and not courtesy kept Dyckman from jumping him. He stood off for Cheever to regain his feet.
Again there was a good-humored shout from the bustling throng. "I'll line up with Yale to beat you though," Cheever added with a chuckle. "You can line up, you shrimp, but we're going to do the beating," retorted an ardent Harvard supporter. So the banter went on while the nines were being organized. At length, however, there was a shout of dismay.
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