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"Well, I'll be say, doctor," but Stone had darted out of the room, and he turned open-mouthed to Clymer. "If it wasn't Doctor Stone I would say he was crazy," he declared. "Tut! Feel the man's heart and convince yourself," suggested Clymer tartly, and the deputy marshal, dropping on one knee, did so.
At the question a faint smile touched the corners of Clymer's clean shaven mouth and his eyes traveled involuntarily toward the over-dressed female whose charge of assault and battery against her husband had brought Clymer to the police court as a "character" witness in Sylvester's behalf. "Sylvester left Judge Hildebrand to get married," he explained.
George sold her children? and in any other questions that could not well be answered." "Uncle Daniel, I knew Col. Harden, of whom you spoke," said Maj. Clymer. "He was a good soldier, went all through the war, and died in 1868. He was rather an old man for the service, and was never well after the war closed." "Yes; I heard of his death; I kept track of him up to that time; he was a good man."
In the height of this meretricious gaiety, a carriage, driving at a rather rapid rate turned into the road; and Cornelia suddenly raised her eyes to the festive young men, and then dropped them with an abrupt, even angry expression. Hyde became silent and speechless, and Clymer was quickly infected by the very force and potency of his companion's agitation and distressed surprise.
The book-dusting came to as abrupt a close as the reading of Lancelot. Susan went straight to her room, dried her tears so as to write in a fair hand, but had to stop every few lines and take a turn at the "dust-layers," as Mrs. Clymer Ketchum's friend used to call the fountains of sensibility.
After an hour's driving they came to a famous hostelry, and Clymer said, "Let us give ourselves lunch, and the horses bait and a rest, then we will make them show their mettle home again." The proposal met with a hearty response, and the young men had a luxurious meal and more good wine than they ought to have taken.
Te Assistant District Attorney glanced down at the papers in his hand and then up at the well-dressed, stockily built man occupying the witness stand. His manner was conciliatory. "According to your testimony, Mr. Clymer, the prisoner, John Sylvester, was honest and reliable, and faithfully performed his duties as confidential clerk," he stated. "Just when was Sylvester in your employ?"
Clymer Ketchum, the great lady of 24 Carat Place. Miss Myrtle Hazard was summoned as a matter of course, and the fashionable woman and the young girl sat half an hour together in lively conversation. Myrtle was fascinated by her visitor, who had that flattering manner which, to those not experienced in the world's ways, seems to imply unfathomable depths of disinterested devotion.
William Murray Bradshaw, had made a half-playful bet with his fair relative, Mrs. Clymer Ketchum, that he would bag a girl within twelve months of date who should unite three desirable qualities, specified in the bet, in a higher degree than any one of the five who were on the matrimonial programme which she had laid out for him, and Myrtle was the girl with whom he meant to win the bet.
"Who would have stood surety for that scarecrow?" "I would have." Rochester spoke with some vehemence, but his words were partly drowned by the violent fit of coughing which again shook the burglar, and before he could finish his sentence, Helen McIntyre stood at his elbow. She bowed gravely to Clymer who rose at her approach, and laid a persuasive hand on Rochester's sleeve.
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