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One wonders how much of history would be thrown out as worthless, like Martin Culpepper's fine writing, if the women who scraped the plates might testify. For those "large white plumes" do not dance in women's eyes!
At the end of two years she had died, succumbing, as differently stated, from perpetual wet feet, or the misanthropic idiosyncrasies of her husband, and leaving behind her a girl of twelve and a boy of sixteen to console him. How futile was this bequest may be guessed from a brief summary of Mr. Culpepper's peculiarities.
"What has that got to do with your scheme?" he demanded, in perplexity. "A whole lot," came the swift answer; "because I want you to get me up as close a copy of that receipt as you possibly can!" "Whew! do you mean even to signing Mr. Culpepper's name at the end?" asked Carl, whose breath had very nearly been taken away.
And even when the little headstone on the Hill slanted in sad neglect, Mrs. Culpepper's old eyes still saw Ellen growing old with her playmates. And she never saw John Barclay that she did not think of Ellen and and what she would have made of him. And what would she have made of him? Maybe a poet, maybe a dreamer of dreams surely not the hard, grinding, rich man that he became in this world.
Affpuddle, the nearest of the villages to Moreton Station, has a perpendicular church with a fine pinnacled tower. The chief object of interest within is the Renaissance pulpit with curious carvings of the Evangelists in sixteenth-century dress. Scattered about the heath-lands in this neighbourhood are a number of "swallow holes" with various quaint names such as "Culpepper's Dish" and "Hell Pit."
But he had it too, by word of mouth, that if Thomas Culpepper would not be stayed by the letter, he, Hal Poins, must stay him with the sword, with a stab in the back, or by being stabbed himself and calling in the guard to lay Thomas Culpepper's self by the heels.
Any special plan for its publication? 'No. 'Then why not offer it to Jedwood? He's publishing a series of one-volume novels. You know of Jedwood, don't you? He was Culpepper's manager; started business about half a year ago, and it looks as if he would do well. He married that woman what's her name? Who wrote "Mr Henderson's Wives"? 'Never heard of it. 'Nonsense! Miss Wilkes, of course.
She took a certain satisfaction in this demonstration of Culpepper's splendid height, and mentally compared it with a former flame, one lieutenant McMirk, an active, but under-sized Hector, who subsequently fell a victim to the incautiously composed and monotonous beverages of a frontier garrison.
Culpepper's employing him; but everybody knows he hates to pay out money, and I suppose he can get Dock cheaper than he could most boys." "But what would the boy want to do with that paper?" asked the lady, helplessly. "Why, mother," said Carl, with a shrug of his shoulders as he looked toward his chum; "don't you see he may have thought he could tell Mr.
On the opposite side of the hill, a vast, torn crater, nearly a hundred feet across and six to ten feet deep, smoked like a stirring volcano and gave off a strange, pungent odor of ether. Johnny Culpepper's dramatic charge to the rescue was no more dramatic than the reaction in a dozen other places in Nevada and California.
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