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Updated: June 18, 2025
Marietta colored with pleasure. "Does Dad pay you to stand an' look at me an' say pretty things t' the cook?" "No, he don't. But I'm willin' t' do it without pay. I could jest stand here till kingdom come an' look at you. Hello! I hear a wagon. I guess I better hump into that wood-pile." "I think so, too. Dinner's most ready, and Dad'll be here soon."
"Well, Thomas, I'd rather face two rebels than that bull dog you fit with t'other night," added gran'ther Greene. "You are as bold as a lion, Thomas." "Do you think I can stand it, gran'ther?" added Tom, with a smile. "Stand it? Well, Thomas, it's a hard life to be a soldier, and I know something about it. When we marched from " "Dinner's ready," interposed Mrs.
I stared curiously to see him colour like a school-girl. "What for?" "My mistake, sir; I forgot myself again. I don't use slang." "Oh!" I commented, wondering. He was beginning to puzzle me. In the pause the air began to rock with the heavy clanging of the clock in the Methodist Church steeple. "That's noon," I said. "We'll have to cut along: dinner's ready."
"The rest of him's all right, too," put in the dry, unemotional voice of the Duchess. "Dinner's ready. Come on." As they moved to the table Hunt clapped a big hand on Larry's shoulder. "And to think," he chuckled, "it took a crook fresh from Sing Sing to discover me as a great artist! You're clever, Larry clever!
But nevertheless I put my foot into it, and felt that a descent to the drawing-room was now possible. "But yer honer will give 'em back to a poor man?" said Larry almost crying. "The masther's mad this minute becase the dinner's not up. Glory to God, only listhen to that!" And as he spoke a tremendous peal rang out from some bell down stairs that had evidently been shaken by an angry hand.
She took them off to give him a glance of question, and their son Tom looked up from his book for a moment; he was in his last year at the high school, and was preparing for Harvard. "I didn't get away from the office till half-past five," March explained to his wife's glance, "and then I walked. I suppose dinner's waiting. I'm sorry, but I won't do it any more."
"You couldn't have done anything I'd have liked better, Mr. Fawzi. I'd have to have a meal at Senta's before really feeling that I'd come home." "Well, here's what I have in mind. It'll be three hours till dinner's ready. Suppose we all go up to my office in the meantime. It'll give the ladies a chance to go home and fix up for the party, and we can have a drink and a talk."
Then, before Bertram could answer, she uttered a gay "Good-by!" and hung up the receiver. Billy had ten whole minutes in which to cry before Pete's gong sounded for dinner; but she had only one minute in which to try to efface the woefully visible effects of those ten minutes before William tapped at her door, and called: "Gone to sleep, my dear? Dinner's ready. Didn't you hear the gong?"
But still he gave no sign of interest even when the little girl spoke at last: "Dinner's ready." He did not look around, for he had crouched, his body taut from head to foot, and he might have been turned suddenly to stone for all the sign of life he gave, and the little girl too was just as motionless. Then she saw the little statue come slowly back to quivering life.
"Hello," he said, on guard against the two of them, wondering what had brought his dad to this particular point at this particular time. "Hello. How d'yuh do, Miss Douglas? Lance, dinner's getting cold waiting for you." Tom lifted his hat to Mary Hope, turned, and rode back whence he had come, never glancing over his shoulder but nevertheless keenly alert for the sound of voices.
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