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Updated: May 21, 2025
And what was significant, he took away with him the neck-halter that, for convenience' sake on his frequent calls, he had left hanging to the hitching-post in the Crymble yard for many weeks. At last the Women's Temperance Workers' Union of Smyrna became thoroughly indignant, in addition to being somewhat mystified.
"Let up on that!" growled the Cap'n, vigorously shaking Mr. Crymble. "This ain't no dime-novel rehearsal. It's time to talk business!" "You bet it's time to talk business!" affirmed the "widow."
Reeves. He darted accusatory finger at the disconsolate pair where they stood gazing down upon the place of Crymble's sepulture. "They was hatchin' a plot and I busted it, and now this is what they've done for revenge. And I'll leave it to Mis' Crymble herself, who stands there and who saw it all." Mrs.
A desperate resistance was made by Mr. Crymble, who was in charge, assisted by only four Malays, but seeing after a while that he was overwhelmed by numbers, he escaped, leaving the position in the hands of the enemy. The Raja had by this time been discovered by native friends, who at once conveyed him to the house of the Datu Bandar, or principal Malay chief in Kuching.
Crymble was in a state of mind to take the cue promptly, and affirmed the charge with an inspirational wealth of detail and a ferocity of shrill accusation that took effect on the crowd in spite of the lack of logic. In moments of excitement crowds are not discriminating. The Cap'n and Hiram gazed with some uneasiness on the lowering faces.
"By the sacred codfish!" bawled Broadway, "if that ain't Dep Crymble! How be ye, Dep?" Mr. Crymble lacked either breath or amiability. He did not reply to the friendly greeting. Cap'n Sproul did that for him enigmatically. "He's back from paradise on his third furlough," he cried. "And bound to hell," mourned Mr. Crymble, stumbling along before the thrust of the fist at his back.
"It might have been better all around," agreed the Cap'n, cheerfully. "But I ain't no undertaker. I'm a town official, sworn to see that paupers ain't poked off onto the taxpayers. And if you want to keep out of some pretty serious legal trouble, Mis' Crymble, you'll mind your p's and q's and you know what I mean!"
Crymble promptly dropped the three sticks of wood that he was carrying. "But I don't want you to get too far off till I think this thing over a little," resumed the Cap'n. "There ain't no time now. You ought to know this old farm of your'n pretty well. You just go find a hole and crawl into it for a while." "I'll do it," declared Mr. Crymble, with alacrity. "I knew you'd find her out.
And detecting further recalcitrancy in the face of his visitor, he pounced on him, scrabbled up a handful of cloth in the back of his coat, and propelled him out of doors and up the street. After a few protesting squawks Mr. Crymble went along. An interested group of men, who had bolted out of Broadway's store, surveyed them as they passed at a brisk pace.
"Killin' a woman's husband ain't to be settled with salve, a sorry, and a dollar bill, Messers Sproul and Look." "I reckon we're messers, all right," murmured the Cap'n, gazing gloomily on the scene of the involuntary entombment of the three-times-dead Crymble. "I couldn't prove that he was ever dead in his life, but there's one thing I've seen with my own eyes.
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