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Updated: June 6, 2025
"And if they print it, Mr. Clark, I'll agree to purchase your next story for fifty dollars." "All right; the fifty's mine. I got witnesses, mind ye!" and he flounced out of the room like an angry schoolboy. "Oh, Louise," exclaimed Patsy, reproachfully, "why didn't you let me see the thing? It would have been better than a circus." "Poor boy!" said the literary editor, with a sigh.
Count 'em? That's soon done. Twenty and thirty's fifty, and twenty's seventy, and fifty's one twenty, and forty's one sixty. Take 'em for expenses? That I'll do, and render an account of course. Don't spare money? No I won't." The velocity and certainty of Mr. Bucket's interpretation on all these heads is little short of miraculous. Mrs.
Grayson, and again kissing Sylvia Morgan on the forehead the proper kiss, Harley thought, for fifty to bestow upon twenty, unless twenty should happen to be fifty's daughter. "We won't be separated long, Sylvia, girl," he said, and she flushed a deep red and then turned pale. To Harley he said: "And I'll try to show you the West, young man, when you come out there.
Fifty's the ticket. And two hours later it may be five hundred. Some people are getting mighty nervous, and I've let five hacks and buggies already, at my own figure, to them as wants to get out of town quick." Isabel turned her back on him, and climbed and descended again.
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