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Updated: June 20, 2025
"How young they are!" muttered Farren, the gray-haired cashier, standing behind Stephen's shoulders. "God bless me, they're children!" "It's a Vermont regiment," said Berkley; "they're filing out of the Park Barracks. What a lot of hawk-nosed, hatchet-faced, turkey-necked cow milkers! all heroes, too, Steve. You can tell that because they're in uniform and carry guns."
Within the week she had laid away both rings, meaning to resume them some day. "If you and your father go, your office will be closed, I suppose." "Oh, no. Farren will run it." "I see. . . . And Mr. Berkley, too, I suppose." Stephen looked up from his bitten seedcake. "Berkley? He left long ago." "Left where?" she asked, confused. "Left the office. It couldn't be helped.
There was only one course open to Farren. His position was not an easy one, and if he yielded, his authority would be gone. His left arm shot out and the man went down with a crash. Then the others closed with him and a savage struggle began.
While Hardie stood watching, half a dozen men dropped their tools and walked up to his companion. "We're through with our lot," announced one. "We're going to the Butte and we'll trouble you for a sub of two dollars a man." "You won't get it," said Farren shortly. "I want the ties laid on the next load." "Then you can send somebody else to fix them. We're doing more than we booked for."
Until the arrival of the British consul-general none but a Mussulman had been permitted to walk upon the upper way. Mr. Farren would not, of course, suffer that the humiliation of any such exclusion should be submitted to by an Englishman, and I always walked upon the raised path as free and unmolested as if I had been in Pall Mall.
During the next minute or two her father came in. He cut short George's thanks, and then took out his pipe. "I was in at the Butte yesterday," he said. "The police have got the men who knocked Farren out, and Flett says they mean to press for a smart penalty. It's about time they made an example of somebody. When I was in, I fixed it up to turn Langside off his holding."
Young men, of course, will always be foolish, up to the end of time. Nellie Farren, Kate Vaughan and Emily Duncan all had their "colours."
General discouragement followed, and everybody stopped mining in our gulch. Some went to work for wages in other mines, to get a fresh supply of provisions, etc. Some went off prospecting and gulch mining in the newer gold regions. Our neighbor, Farren, moved his mill seventy miles away, to California gulch, near where Leadville now is. A mill partly erected near our mill site, and owned by a Mr.
Later, when Mrs. Farren ventured into the schoolroom, she found Scott Seagrave drawing injurious pictures of Howker on the black-board, and Geraldine sorting lumps of sugar from the bowl on the breakfast-tray, which had not yet been removed. "Dearies," she began, "it is after nine o'clock and " "No school to-day, Mrs.
Severn, black hat, crape veil, and gloves still on, evidently that instant arrived from those occult and, as the children supposed, distant bournes of Staten Island, where the supreme mystery of all had been at work. "Oh, Scott!" she exclaimed tremulously, "what on earth has happened? What is all this that Mrs. Farren and Howker have been telling me?" The boy stood petrified.
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