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Updated: May 29, 2025
'Make it one or t'other I don't care, said I: and he weighed the choice so long, bein' a cautious man, that we missed to make up any bet at all. If you'll believe me, that year they rowed a dead heat." "Very curious," commented Cai. "But that isn' the end," continued the barber. "Next year he'd washed his necktie again, and that 'twas Cambridge he couldn' dispute.
"I's be'n lookin' fer 'im eber sence," she added simply, as though twenty-five years were but a couple of weeks, "an' I knows he's be'n lookin' fer me. Fer he sot a heap er sto' by me, Sam did, an' I know he's be'n huntin' fer me all dese years, 'less'n he's be'n sick er sump'n, so he couldn' work, er out'n his head, so he couldn' 'member his promise.
Ah couldn' understan' a word of hit; Ah reckon hit's his foreign words or somethin', but Ah never heard anythin' like hit befo'. 'N then he ast me again, mahty quiet like, wouldn' Ah take this letter to you-all fo' him, 'n Ah jus' natchelly thought Ah would!" The boy grinned sheepishly. The Doctor nodded and ran his finger under the flap of the envelope. "So you think he's sick." "M'lissy does.
"It's a fine room," said Mr. Jope, walking up to a statue of Diana: "but a man couldn' hardly invite a mixed company to dinner here." "Symonds's f'r instance," suggested Mr. Adams. Symonds's being a somewhat notorious boarding-house in a street of Plymouth which shall be nameless. "You ought to be ashamed o' yourself, Bill," said Mr. Jope sternly. "They're anticks, that's what they are." Mr.
He passed a hand caressingly over her stern board. "There's a piece o' timber for you! Inch-an'-a-quarter teak, an' seasoned! That's where her name's to go the Pass By. No; I couldn't fancy any other name." The Elder was dumb. "No, I couldn' fancy any other name," went on Tregenza in a musing tone.
"'Come de surrender, Mr. Chisolm, he got to be a big leader on de other side. So de Chisolms kep' gittin' all de big places. "'A lot o' widders an' folks lak dat what couldn' he'p deyse'fs los' dey homes an' ever'thing dey had. De papers de gran' jury make out 'bout it were stored in de sheriff's office. De sheriff give out dat his office done been broke open an' all dem papers stole. "'Den Mr.
Fer dey wuzn' no yuther merlatter man like my man Sam, an' I couldn' be mistook. I's toted his picture roun' wid me twenty-five years." "May I see it?" asked Mr. Ryder. "It might help me to remember whether I have seen the original." As she drew a small parcel from her bosom, he saw that it was fastened to a string that went around her neck.
W'en she seed de stump standin' dere, wid de sap runnin' out'n it, en de limbs layin' scattered roun', she nigh 'bout went out'n her mine. She run ter her cabin, en got her goopher mixtry, en den foller de track er de timber waggin ter de saw-mill. She knowed Sandy couldn' lib mo' d'n a minute er so ef she turn' him back, fer he wuz all chop' up so he'd a be'n bleedst ter die.
He'd a-led the fore-half o' his life, I b'lieve, in London church-town, by reason that he an' his father couldn' be left in a room together wi'out comin' to fisticuffs: an' by all accounts was fashion's favourite in the naughty city, doin' his duty in that state o' life an' playing Hamlet's ghost among the Ten Commandments.
But wiles he b'en layin' roun' in de woods he had 'mence ter feel monst'us lonesome, an' it 'peared ter him dat he jes' couldn' go widout seein' Dasdy an' little Pete.
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