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At the bottom of Fisbee's page was written in a dainty, feminine hand, of a type he had not seen for years: "'The time has come, the Walrus said, 'To talk of many things: Of shoes and ships and sealing-wax And cabbages and kings " He put the paper in his pocket, and set off rapidly down the village street.
He had received his salary in advance, his books had been repurchased, and he had become the reportorial staff of the "Carlow County Herald"; also, he was to write various treatises for the paper. For the first few evenings, when he started home from the office, his chief walked with him, chatting heartily, until they had passed the Palace bar. But Fisbee's redemption was complete.
It was evident that the old man was grateful to his patron, but it did not occur to Meredith that Fisbee's daughter might have an even stronger sense of gratitude, one so strong that she could give all her young strength to work for the man who had been good to her father.
But there was one phenomenon of literature the convalescent insisted upon observing for himself, and which he went over again and again, to the detriment of his single unswathed eye, and this was the Carlow "Herald." There followed a note from Parker, announcing that Mr. Fisbee's relative was a bird, and was the kind to make the "Herald" hum. They hoped Mr.
It had been a strange and beautiful day to him, begun in anger, but the sun was not to go down upon his wrath; for his choleric intention had almost vanished on his homeward way, and the first words Smith had spoken had lifted the veil of young Fisbee's duplicity, had shown him with what fine intelligence and supreme delicacy and sympathy young Fisbee had worked for him, had understood him, and had made him.
"It was a blow to my wife," the old man continued, sadly, "and I cannot deny that her reproaches were as vehement as her disappointment was sincere." He hurried over this portion of his narrative with a vaguely troubled look, but the intelligent Parker read poor Mrs. Fisbee's state of mind between the sentences. "She never seemed to regard me in the same light again," the archaeologist went on.
John groaned and fretted over the writhings of the "Herald's" headless fortnight, but, perusing the issues produced under the domination of H. Fisbee, he started now and then, and chuckled at some shrewd felicities of management, or stared, puzzled, over an oddity, but came to a feeling of vast relief; and, when the question of H. Fisbee's salary was settled and the tenancy assured, he sank into a repose of mind.
While his daughter was dancing cotillions, a stranger had taken his hand and " A sob rose in her throat and checked her utterance for a moment; but she threw up her head and met his eyes proudly. "Gratitude, Mr. Harkless!" she cried. "I am James Fisbee's daughter." He fell back from the bench with a sharp exclamation, and stared at her through the gray twilight.
The morrow's issue that fateful print on which depended John Harkless's opinion of H. Fisbee's integrity contained an editorial addressed to the delegates of the convention, warning them to act for the vital interest of the community, and declaring that the opportunity to be given them in the present convention was a rare one, a singular piece of good fortune indeed; they were to have the chance to vote for a man who had won the love and respect of every person in the district one who had suffered for his championship of righteousness one whom even his few political enemies confessed they held in personal affection and esteem one who had been the inspiration of a new era one whose life had been helpfulness, whose hand had reached out to every struggler and unfortunate a man who had met and faced danger for the sake of others one who lived under a threat for years, and who had been almost overborne in the fulfilment of that threat, but who would live to see the sun shine on his triumph, the tribute the convention would bring him as a gift from a community that loved him.
Fisbee, can you step here a second?" "Yes, indeed!" was Fisbee's reply; and he fled guiltily into the "store-room," and Parker closed the door. They stood knee-deep in the clutter and lumber, facing each other abjectly. "Well, we're both done, anyway, Mr. Fisbee," remarked the foreman. "Indubitably, Mr. Parker," the old man answered; "it is too true."
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