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He was the one possible man who would prove quite too large for Farnsworth's domineering.
"Say, Jeff, if Farnsworth's going after Gillis, it's probably on account of those stories about him and Mrs. Rivers. At least, all that stuff would come out if he arrested him. Maybe we could get a fee out of Mrs. Rivers." "I'd thought of that. Unfortunately, Mrs.
I'm afraid you don't realize what kind of mental stability and organization are required to handle the equipment he now has." "I'm sure I don't," the colonel agreed. "I doubt if anyone besides Stanton himself knows." Dr. Farnsworth's manner softened a little. "You're probably quite right.
She didn't stop to think that probably Daisy's regret was at being found out and not for the deed itself, but Patty's forgiveness was full and free, even before it was asked. In her unbounded generosity of heart, she resolved to shield Daisy from Farnsworth's wrath. "What about the note?" she asked, simply. "Did you write it?" "I did." "Did any one force or persuade you to write it?"
But Patty had caught sight of Daisy Dow, and the angry gleam in that young woman's eyes warned Patty that Farnsworth's plan boded trouble. Moreover, perverse Patty objected to being appropriated so calmly, and with a deliberate intent to pique Farnsworth, she replied, gaily: "Nay, nay, fair sir; it suits me not, thus to be parcelled out. We Eastern girls are not to be had for the asking."
Charley found his boarding-house a little "poky," to borrow his own phrase, and he was pleased with Farnsworth's invitation. He honored the occasion by the purchase of a new black satin cravat. This he tied with extreme care, according to the approved formula of "twice around and up and down." Few men could tie a cravat in better style.
"Why do you want to take the high road, if I take the low road?" he asked her, abruptly. He took no pains to lower his tones, and Bob Peyton who stood near heard what he said. "Because I'm taking the low road, and Miss Fairfield will ride with me, though she won't with you." Peyton's manner was so light and his smile so gay, that Patty answered in the same key, ignoring Farnsworth's serious face.
While speaking Farnsworth leaned near Father Beret and grasped his arm. The young man started, for his fingers, instead of closing around a flabby, shrunken old man's limb, spread themselves upon a huge, knotted mass of iron muscles. With a quick movement Father Beret shook off Farnsworth's hand, and said: "I am no Samson, my son. Non sum qualis eram."
Farnsworth's mind rarely took time to peep over the fence that divided the universe into two parts the Bank of Manhadoes and its interests lying on the one side, and all the rest of creation on the other. Not that he ignored society; he gave dinner parties in his elegant housekeeping apartment in the Sebastopol Flats.
And when the shape of a witch's chin became the immediate point of discussion I knew it was in Antoine's mind that such conversation was unbecoming, an offense to the memory of Raymond Bashford. Mrs. Farnsworth's brown eyes sparkled, and the color deepened in my aunt's cheeks as we discoursed upon witches and the chins thereof.
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