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Updated: May 7, 2025
As a result of his conversation with you, father believes you did the telephoning." "I told him half the truth, but no lie. I have never lied to him, Miss Elizabeth, and I never shall. When Hector McKaye asks me for the truth, he'll get it." In Mr. Daney's voice there was a growl that spoke of slow, quiet fury at the realization that this cool young woman should presume to dictate to him.
For the strain had been too great, and at nine o'clock on a working day morning, steady, reliable, dependable, automatic Andrew Daney having imbibed Dutch courage in lieu of Nature's own brand, was, for the first time in his life, jingled to an extent comparable to that of a boiled owl. Mr. Daney's assistant thrust his head in the door, to disturb The Laird's cogitations.
Daney's room quite a quantity of sand which had worked into his shoes during his agitated spring around Tyee Beach. She was quite certain he had indulged in a moonlight stroll on the seashore with a younger and prettier woman, so she resolved to follow him when next he fared forth and catch the traitor red-handed. To her surprise, Mr. Daney went out no more o' nights.
"Well, old shipmate," she murmured in his ear, "I'm back." "'God's in his heaven," he whispered. "'All's right with the world." From the company hospital, The Laird went straight to his general manager's office. Entering, he strode to Daney's desk and transfixed that harassed individual with an accusing finger. "Andrew, this is your work, is it not?" Mr.
Also, he was talking that way. Consequently, and what with the distress of being dismissed from the McKaye service in such cavalier fashion, the general manager decided to twist out from under that terrible grasp on his shoulder. Instantly, Donald released from this support, swayed and clutched gropingly for Mr. Daney's person. "Dizzy," he panted. "Head's on strike. Mr.
From the station, Hector McKaye hurried over to the mill office and entered Andrew Daney's room. "Andrew," he began, "you've been doing things. What became of old Caleb Brent's motor-boat?" "I opened the sea-cock, cast it off, and let it drift out into the bight on the ebb-tide one night recently." "Why?"
Her cool, patronizing nod and the sudden contraction and relaxation of Nan's facial muscles brought a wry smile to old Daney's stolid countenance. "Even if I felt that I could afford to or was forced to accept reimbursement for my expenses and lost time," Nan resumed, "her action precluded it. Can't you realize that, Mr. Daney? And Jane and Elizabeth went her one no, two better.
I left the decision up to the Almighty and evidently he inspired you to disobey me and save the day without compromising me." "Pooh! That's the easiest thing I do." Mr. Daney's courage had returned with a rush. "For heaven's sake, don't talk about it, sir. I placed a call for the girl on the telephone at your expense.
"I take it," he continued, after a slight pause, "that it was entirely your idea to conceal from the office force the fact that Miss Brent had written me this letter." "It was, Don." "I am at a loss to know why you took such a precaution." Donald's eyes met Daney's in frank suspicion; the latter thought that he detected some slight anger in the younger man's bearing. "I can enlighten you, Don.
Daney's task to place the call for Nan Brent in New York City and while he did not relish the assignment, nevertheless he was far from shrinking from it. While the citizens of Port Agnew had been aware for more than two years that transcontinental telephoning was possible, they knew also that three minutes of conversation for twenty-five dollars tended to render silence more or less golden.
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