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Legislative sessions, be it known, no longer took place in the summer, a great relief to Mr. Crewe and to farmers in general, who wished to be at home in haying time. The capital abounded in comfortable homes and boasted not a dwellings of larger pretensions. Chief among these was the Duncan house still so called, although Mr.
It's urgent, sir." "Who is it?" "They won't give their names, sir." "All right," said Mr. Crewe, and with a grin which spoke volumes for the manner in which he was harassed he started towards the house in no great hurry, however. Reaching the instrument, and saying "Hello" in his usually gracious manner, he was greeted by a voice with a decided Hibernian-American accent. "Am I talkin' to Mr.
Botcher's coughing had subsided. "I had no idea you were so ahem well equipped for a political career. But what we wanted to speak to you about was this," he continued, as Mr. Crewe showed signs of breaking in, "those committee appointments you desired." "Yes," said Mr. Crewe, with some pardonable heat, "the Speaker doesn't seem to know which side his bread's buttered on."
Crewe glanced at him again. In spite of himself, respect was growing in him. He had expected to find a certain amount of eagerness and subserviency though veiled; here was a man of different calibre than he looked for in Ripton. "The fact is," he declared, "I have a grievance against the Northeastern Railroads, and I have made up my mind that you are the man for me."
There are, I believe, some of them in court at this moment, and though they are not arrested, it will be no news to them to learn that they are under police observation." "Swell" Crewe, sitting at the back of the court, shifted uneasily and, turning his head, he met the careless gaze of the tall, military-looking man who had "detective" written all over him.
And when it was all finished and revised, it was put into a long envelope which bore this printed address: Augustus P. Flint, Pres't United Northeastern Railroads, New York. And came back with certain annotations on the margin, which were duly incorporated into it. Mr. Crewe liked the inaugural, and was one of the first to tell Mr.
The senator was from Newcastle, that city out of the mysterious depths of which so many political stars have arisen. Mr. Crewe cancelled a long-deferred engagement with Mrs. Pomfret, and invited the senator to stay to dinner; the senator hesitated, explained that he was just passing through Ripton, and, as it was a pleasant afternoon, had called to "pay his respects"; but Mr.
Jane, and remembered afterwards how Hilary had been struck by the simile. Crewe and Mr. Manning and Mr. Jane and State Senator Billings and Mr. Ridout attended. Query: the Honourable Hilary had quarrelled with Mr. Flint, that was an open secret; did not Mr.
Jenney, "there's five hundred in the House, ain't there?" "It's a ridiculous number," says Mr. Crewe, with truth. "Gives everybody a chance to go," says Mr. Jenney. "I was thar in '78, and enjoyed it some." "Who are you for?" demanded Mr. Crewe, combating the tendency of the conversation to slip into a pocket. "Little early yet, hain't it? Hain't made up my mind. Who's the candidates?" asks Mr.
One aspect of him she had shared with her mother, that he was a tower of defence and strength, and that his name alone had often been sufficient to get difficult things done. Was he right in this? And were his opponents charlatans, or dupes, or idealists who could never be effective? Mr. Crewe wanted an office; Tom Gaylord had a suit against the road, and Austen Vane was going to bring that suit!
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