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Updated: June 9, 2025
It was the second day after he went back that he met Pat on the street, and it was from Pat that he learned that Tennelly and Bill Ward had gone down to the shore to a house party given by "that fluffy-ruffles cousin of Bill's." Pat drew his own conclusions from the white look on Courtland's face when he told him.
More awkward in his kindliness than in his simple business confidences, but apparently equally honest in both, he shook Courtland's hand and walked away. Courtland turned towards the house. He had seen the farm and its improvements; he had found some of his own ideas practically discounted; clearly there was nothing left for him to do but to thank his hostess and take his leave.
"And she left her last cent here to pay for her room! My! When I think of it I could choke that smart young snob that called on her in the afternoon! You ought to have heard her sneers and her insinuations. Women like that are a blight on womanhood! And she dared to mention your name said you had sent her!" The color heightened in Courtland's face. He felt uncomfortable.
The other three made a dash at him, but he side-stepped one and tripped him; a blow on the point of the chin sent another sprawling on the sidewalk; but the last one, who was perhaps the most sober of them all, showed fight and called to his comrades to come on and get this stranger who was trying to steal their girl. The language he used made Courtland's blood boil.
They'll be a day o' reckonin' fer them rich folks what rides in 'em! They'll hev to walk! They may even have to lie abed an' hev their wages get behind!" The whole weight of the sorrow of the world seemed suddenly pressing upon Courtland's heart. How had he been thus unexpectedly taken out of the pleasant monotony of the university and whirled into this vortex of anguish! Why had it been?
What you have possessed me withall, I'll discharge it amply. Ben Jonson's Every Man in his Humour. Mr. Courtland's house was surrounded by a high wall, and stood at the outskirts of the town. A little wooden door buried deep within the wall, seemed the only entrance.
He was holding Courtland's hand in a painful grip, and looking again into his eyes as if he would search his soul to the depths: "You sure have got hold of something there that's worth looking into! You had a great hold on your audience, too! Why, you almost persuaded me there was something in it!" Tennelly tried to finish his sentence in lighter vein, but the feeling was in his voice yet.
The child shrank in his arms, and he put a reassuring hand upon the little head that snuggled comfortedly against his coat. It was one of Courtland's strong points, this love of little children. He grew fine and gentle in their presence. It often drew attention on the athletic field when some little fellow strayed his way and Courtland would turn to talk to the child.
They claimed protection from a mob, and Captain Courtland's police are protecting them." There was dead silence for two or three seconds. If a kitten had sneezed, everybody would have heard it. Then it started, first an inarticulate roar, and then a babel of unprintabilities.
He wants you. I'll wait for you down in the office. Tennelly was pacing up and down the room. His face was white, his eyes were wild. He had the haggard look of one who has come through a long series of harrowing experiences up to the supreme torture where there is nothing worse that can happen. Courtland's knock brought him at once to the door.
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