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Updated: May 4, 2025
A chill wind came from the sea and the surf at the foot of the bluff moaned and splashed and sighed. Thankful sighed also. "What's the matter?" asked Winnie S. "Oh, nothin' much. I wish I was a prophet, that's all. I'd like to be able to look ahead a year." Winnie S. whistled. "Judas priest!" he said. "So'd I. But if I'd see myself drivin' this everlastin' rig-out I'd wished I hadn't looked.
It was a tur'ble hot day you had to prime yourself to spit and we was just gettin' back from drivin' some beef up to the troops at Fort Huachuca. We was due to cross the Emigrant Trail she's wore in tur'ble deep you can see the ruts to-day. When we topped the rise we see a little old outfit just makin' out to drag along.
Yes, and when all is over, then my mind will be at aise; this black thing that's inside o' me for years drivin' me on, on, on will go about his business; and then, plaise goodness, I can repent comfortably and like a Christian. Oh, dear me! my head!" At length the important morning, fraught with a series of such varied and many-colored events, arrived.
He said it would be a lovely sight a loomin' up in front of the M. E. meetin'-house in Jonesville. But I got his mind off from it quick as I could. One day when we wuz out drivin' through the handsome streets we went to see the palace of Bismark. It wuz a large, stately mansion, opposite a pretty little park.
The spook of a cook carn't reach the spook of a baron there hany more than a scullery-maid can reach a markis 'ere. H'I tried that when the baron died and came over to the hother world, but 'e 'ad 'is spook flunkies on 'and to tell me 'e was hout drivin' with the ghost of William the Conqueror and the shide of Solomon. H'I knew 'e wasn't, but what could h'I do?"
It's not that. I make no complaint, but I tell you it ain't me, it's circumstances as is gone and changed theirselves, and bein' as circumstances is changed, things ain't the same as they was, and Miss is the properer term from you to me, John Jephson." "Dang it if I know what you're a drivin' at, Alice! Miss Cox! and I beg yer pardon, miss, I'm sure. Dang me if I do!"
"I got off bright and early, and, as luck would have it, I'd jest tied and blanketed my horse when that wonderful smart red wagon come drivin' in at the gate.
"It's only the boys' fun, of course. Don't you mind them, Jim." "What're you drivin' at?" asked Hackley, bristling a bit. "If you got anything worth sayin' to me, spit it out plain, I say." "Well," laughed Ryan, "if some of the boys was to see you in here putting away a harmless drink or so, o' course they'd say that you was gettin' up your Dutch courage. He, he!" "Dutch courage!" cried Mr.
"I tried hard to think of somethin' comfortin' to say, but afore I could h'ist a satisfyin' word out of my hatches I heard the noise of a carriage comin'. Effie heard it, too, and so did everybody else. We all looked toward the gate. 'Twas Sim Butler, sure enough, in his buggy and drivin' the same old horse; but settin' alongside of him on the seat was Susannah Debs, the housekeeper.
I can't explain, but you can see what I'm drivin' at." Saxon, revisioning the little bungalow they had just left, repeated absently: "That's it the way." The next morning they were early afoot, seeking through the suburbs of San Jose the road to San Juan and Monterey. Saxon's limp had increased. Beginning with a burst blister, her heel was skinning rapidly.
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