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Updated: May 8, 2025
Sharlee arose, took off her coat and furs, laid them on the bed, and going to the bureau began fixing her hair in the back before the long mirror. No matter how well a woman looks to the untrained, or man's, eye, she can always put in some time pleasurably fixing her hair in the back. "Now," said Sharlee, "to business. Tell me all about the little dead-beat."
I said I didn't doubt it, if my womenfolk encouraged every infernal old dead-beat in the colony to come and loaf upon me. Two large tears at once ran down Kate's nose, and dropped into the custard on her plate. I softened at once and went out.
"What do we want that blamed old dead-beat round here for, when he can't speak to anyone but the Crown land-agent and the mill manager?" One of the others laughed, but Nasmyth saw venomous hatred in the big axeman's face. It was, however, not his business, and Waynefleet was a man for whom he had no great liking. He was about to turn away when the chopper went on again.
"Sometimes it's me good old Jack up; sometimes hard swearin', straight goin' Bob; sometimes little Raven, as true a pair of hands and light and tight a seat as hunter ever had; sometimes Lory Ling, as reckless as the old Roscommon sire of him I used to carry when I was a five-year-old, with a ring in his swears, a stab in his heels, and a cut in his crop that can lift a dead-beat one over as tall gates as the best and freshest can take; sometimes it's Priest, that with the language of him and the hell-at-a-split pace he'll hold a tired one to but ill desarves the holy name he wears; and sometimes my happiest times it's a daughter of the patron up, with hands like velvet and the nerve and seat of a veteran.
Looking up, Frank recognized one of those who had saluted Percy and himself on their way to the restaurant. "He isn't my uncle," he replied, rather resentfully. "You never saw him before, did you?" continued the boy. "No, I didn't." "That's what I thought." There was something significant in the young Arab's tone, which led Frank to inquire, "Do you know him?" "Yes, he's a dead-beat." "A what?"
The glittering throngs spreading over the plains gazed at him in the sheer stupor of amazement; they saw that the famous English hero was dead-beat as any used-up knacker. One second more he strove to wrench himself through the throng of the horses, through the headlong crushing press, through worst foe of all! the misty darkness curtaining his sight!
About half-past five the Boer guns, which had for some unexplained reason been silent all day, opened upon the cavalry. Their appearance was a signal for the general falling back of the centre, and the last attempt to retrieve the day was abandoned. The Highlanders were dead-beat; the Coldstreams had had enough; the mounted infantry was badly mauled.
Barbarossa was dead-beat, and threw himself on a sofa, where he sank back heavy-eyed and exhausted; and I, almost feared that he would drop into a coma, as the penalty of overstraining nature, until the sight of a pack of cards restored him as if by a spell to his normal wakefulness. Even in a disturbed region it is needful to have a change of linen, so we got back next morning to St.
Retiring softly to his own room, under the same roof, the author of "The Amateur Detective" smiled at himself before the mirror with marked complacency. "You're a long-headed one, my dead-beat friend," he said, archly, "and your great American Novel is likely to be a respectable success." There sounded a crash upon a floor, somewhere in the house, and he held his breath to listen.
This was an aged 'dead-beat' by the name of Cahoon, who occasionally joined the Shakers, and lived on the country generally. The place selected for immersion was a clear pool in the river above the bridge, around which was a beautiful rise of ground on the west side for the audience. On the east bank was a sharp bluff and some stumps, where Mr. Card and myself stationed ourselves.
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