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"Well, he's a news-item." "Why?" "Well, here's a boy that's been a regular fellow raised in America done work on a newspaper suddenly taken off to England to become a London dude mixing with all the dukes, playing pinochle with the King naturally they're interested in him." A more agreeable expression came over Mrs. Crocker's face. "Of course, that is quite true.
Crocker's suggestion that they should never speak to each other again as long as they lived: and it was immediately after this that the latter removed husband Bingley, step-son Jimmy, and all her other goods and chattels to London, where they had remained ever since. Whenever Mrs. Crocker spoke of America now, it was in tones of the deepest dislike and contempt.
Typical of some island nation was this nest of refuge where men grew quietly tall, fattened, and without fuss dropped off their perches; where contentment flourished, as sunflowers flourished in the sun. Crocker's cap slipped off; he was nodding, and Shelton looked at him.
An instance of similar modesty is found in Mr. This an engaging liberty which no one else would dare to take. The best English fish-story pure and simple, that I know, is "Crocker's Hole," by H. D. Black-more, the creator of LORNA DOONE. Let us turn now to American books about angling. Of these the merciful dispensations of Providence have brought forth no small store since Mr.
Crocker's case is a very bad one; but the Postmaster General shall see your appeal, and his lordship will, I am sure, sympathize with your humanity as do I also. I cannot take upon myself to say what his lordship will think it right to do, and it will be better, therefore, that you should abstain for the present from communicating with Mr. Crocker. I am, Your lordship's very faithful servant,
These ignoble beings did not spare even poor Nero; they blatantly wondered what business I had to bring such a big brute in order to frighten the people. Resuming my way along the flat by a winding path, I came upon a model bit of corduroying over a bad marsh, crossed the bridge, and suddenly sighted Mr. F. F. Crocker's coffee-mill stamping-battery.
We took fourteen minutes to clamber up the stiff side in the pelting rain, with a tornado making ready to break. Ten minutes more, along the level, and a total of three hours, placed us at Mr. Crocker's Bellevue House. I had been asked to baptise it, and gave the name after a place in Sevenoaks which overlooks the wooded expanse of the Kentish weald.
I had with me the 13th corps, General McClernand commanding, and two brigades of Logan's division of the 17th corps, General McPherson commanding in all not more than twenty thousand men to commence the campaign with. These were soon reinforced by the remaining brigade of Logan's division and Crocker's division of the 17th corps.
With this vast effort Pike turned as red as any trout spot. "After that who could refuse you?" said my father. "You always tell the truth, my boy, in Latin or in English." Although it was a long walk, some fourteen miles to Wellington and back, I got permission to go with Pike; and as we crossed the bridge and saw the tree that overhung Crocker's Hole, I begged him to show me that mighty fish.
Which they did. Far different was the attitude of Mrs. Crocker's sister, Nesta Pett. She entirely disapproved of the proposed match.
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