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Updated: June 10, 2025
It was a sight surprising to behold. But perhaps you may have heard of Father Florence Conry, as pleasant a man as one would wish to drink with of a hot summer's day; and he had rhymed out all about the dancing fishes so neatly that it would be a thousand pities not to give you his verses; so here they are in English: The big seals in motion, Like waves of the ocean, Or gouty feet prancing, Came heading the gay fish, Crabs, lobsters, and cray-fish, Determined on dancing.
Conry became suddenly animated, as if after a period of depressing darkness she saw a large ray of sunshine. She had thought of possibilities when she had persuaded her husband to take her to St. Louis, but had not expected them to develop at once. "You see," she continued quickly, "if I can get a hearing here, it means that other people may want me, I'll become known, a little."
When she saw him, she cried out, frightened by his white face: "Vick! What has happened?" "Mrs. Conry is downstairs, Isabelle. I want her to stay here with you to-night!" "Vick! What is it?" Isabelle demanded with staring eyes. "I will tell you to-morrow." "No now!" She clutched her wrap about her shiveringly and drew him within the room. "It's I am going away, Isabelle, at once with Mrs. Conry.
The driver, arranging himself on the seat, looked down at Vickers, winked, and waited. Conry still dragged his wife by the arm, and as she tried to free herself he raised his other hand and slapped her across the face as he would cuff a struggling dog, then struck her again. She groaned and half sank to the pavement. The curious bystanders said nothing, made no move to interfere.
When Isabelle moved to New York for the winter, Vickers took Delia Conry West, and on his return after a few days in the city went up to the Farm, where Miss Betterton and Marian were still staying. He felt relieved to get back once more in the country that was now beginning its quiet preparation for winter. New York had overwhelmed him.
Already a couple of people sauntering past had paused to look at them. Conry grasped the young man by the arm and flung him to one side, and thrusting his other hand into the cab jerked his wife out of it. "Come here!" he roared. "I'll show you you " Mrs. Conry, trembling and white, tried to free her arm and cross the pavement.
First he found some idle American students, and ran about with them, and through them he fell in with a woman of the Stacia Conry type, of which there is always a supply in every agreeable European centre. When Margaret emerged from her retirement and began to look about, she found this Englishwoman very prominent on the horizon.
"I'll be back early in the afternoon, and then we will make our plans." "Will you tell him, your father?" Mrs. Conry asked tensely. "He will have to know, of course." As he spoke a wave of pain shot over the young man's face. He stepped to the door and then turned: "You will telegraph about Delia, she might meet us in New York in two days." "Very well," Mrs. Conry murmured submissively.
A bitter smile curved her lips, as she gathered up the white flowers and laid them on the piano. One winter day while Vickers Price was "selling nails," as he still expressed his business career, there came in his mail a queer little scrawl, postmarked Pittsburg. It was from Delia Conry, and it ran: "We've been home a month. We live in a hotel. I don't like it. The bird you gave me died.
"Perhaps that was the best she could do for him under the circumstances," Cairy remarked philosophically. "But the child must be a bore." He laughed at the comical situation. "Just like Vick!" It was also like Vickers to give Mrs. Conry a large share of his small fortune when she had seen fit to leave him, as Fosdick had told her....
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