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Updated: May 21, 2025
McKaye a promise to call at his office with the girls at ten o'clock the following morning. "What is this interesting news, Andrew?" Mrs. Daney asked, with well-simulated disinterestedness.
Of course, the poor Laird will not see the point of the joke, but then he's the innocent bystander, and innocent bystanders are always, getting hurt." "Ah, do not hurt him!" Daney pleaded anxiously. "He's a good, kind, manly gentleman. Spare him! Spare him, my dear!" "Oh, I wouldn't hurt him, Mr. Daney, if I did not know I had the power to heal his hurts."
"Well, proceed," The Laird commanded. His words apparently were addressed to both, but his glance was fixed on Mrs. Daney and now she understood full well her husband's description of the McKaye look. "I had finished what I had to say, Mr. McKaye," Andrew Daney found courage to say. "So I noted, Andrew, and right well and forcibly you said it. I'm grateful to you.
"I didn't intend to eavesdrop, and I didn't very much; but since I couldn't help overhearing such a pertinent bit of conversation, I'll come up and we'll get to the bottom of it. Keep your seat, Mrs. Daney." The advice was unnecessary. The poor soul could not have left it. The Laird perched himself on the veranda railing, handed the dumfounded Daney a cigar, and helped himself to one.
"Oh, my dear, my dear," she pleaded, "you wouldn't breathe a word to him, would you? Promise me you'll say nothing. How could I face my husband if if " She began to weep. "I shall promise nothing," Nan replied sternly. "But I only came for his father's sake, you cruel girl!" "Perhaps his father's case is safer in my hands than in yours, Mrs. Daney, and safest of all in those of his son."
You've lost a lot of blood. We may pull you through, but I doubt it." "Very well," the demon replied composedly. "Telephone Judge Alton to come and get his dying statement," the doctor ordered the nurse, but Dirty Dan raised a deprecating hand. "'Twas a private, personal matther," he declared. "'Twas settled satisfacthory. I'll not die, an' I'll talk to no man but Misther Daney.
At six o'clock Donald came in from the logging-camp. Daney made it his business to be in the entry of the outer office when his superior took his mail from his box, and, watching narrowly, thought he observed a frown on the young laird's face as he read Nan Brent's letter. Immediately he took refuge in his private office, to which he was followed almost immediately by Donald.
Daney wisely held, in contradiction to any number of people not quite so hard-headed as he, that absence does not tend to make the heart grow fonder particularly if sufficient hard work and worry can be supplied to prevent either party to the separation thinking too long or too intensely of the absentee. Within a decent period following Nan's hoped-for departure from Port Agnew, Mr.
He turned to the chief operator and looked her squarely in the eyes. "The Laird likes discreet young women," he announced meaningly, "and rewards discretion. If you're not the highest paid chief operator in the state of Washington from this on, I'm a mighty poor guesser." The girl smiled at him, and suddenly, for the first time in all his humdrum existence, Romance gripped Mr. Daney.
"And you heard of it immediately." "His father heard of it also," Mrs. Daney continued. "It worries him." "It should not. He should have more faith in his son, Mrs. Daney." "He is a father, my dear, very proud of his son, very devoted to him, and fearfully ambitious for Donald's future." "And you fear that I may detract from the radiance of that future? Is that it?"
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