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Updated: May 3, 2025
"Ah, you're a good hand at a guess, Eben," and Grimsby smiled. "Yes, I'm taking them to her. She'd never forgive me if I forgot them. Why, I've known Jess Randall ever since she was a baby," he lied. "She calls me 'Uncle Gabe." "She does!" Eben was more impressed than ever with Grimsby. "Oh, yes, she's a great friend of mine.
He's ravin' 'bout that fight. Looks like ye tol' him 'bout it. He says, Don't tell Uncle Gabe'; 'n' he keeps sayin' it. Hit'll 'most kill him ef you go 'way; but he wants ye to git out o' the mount'ins; 'n', Rome, you've got to go." "Who was it, Uncle Gabe, that seed me 'n' Steve comm' 'way from thar?"
"Well, Gab, say it." "Look here, Jed Winslow, do you hear me?" "Yes, hear you fust rate, Gabe now." Mr. Bearse's understanding was not easily penetrated; a hint usually glanced from it like a piece of soap from a slanting cellar door, but this time the speaker's tone and the emphasis on the "now" made a slight dent. Gabriel's eyes opened.
Isom nodded, without looking around, and when old Gabe was gone he rose nervously and dropped helplessly back to the floor. "'Pears like old Gabe knows I killed Jass," he breathed, sullenly. "'Pears like all of 'em knows hit, 'n' air jus' a-tormentin' me."
Gabe didn't intend to be "corked" thus peremptorily. "It's pretty important news, Georgianna," he declared. "Kind of bad news, too. I think I'd ought to prepare you for it, sort of. When Cap'n Obed Pepper died, I " "DIED! For the land sakes! WHAT are you sayin'? Give me that, you foolhead! Give it to me!" She snatched the telegram from him and tore it open.
If you see one of those things the soldiers put on in the trenches I'd wish you'd buy it for me. You know what I mean a gas mask." "A gas mask! Gracious king! What on earth?" Jed sighed. "'Twould be consider'ble protection when Gabe Bearse dropped in and started talkin'," he drawled, solemnly.
"Don't you suppose, Jake, that Mart, by circulating down there with his basket so much, encourages the people to be shiftless? We were just wondering." "Oh, you were, were you?" snapped Dolan. "There you go, Gabe Carnine; since you've moved to town and got to be president of a bank, you're mighty damn scared about making paupers.
Jockey Moseby Jones, gorgeous as a tropical butterfly in the cherry jacket with green sleeves and the red, white and blue cap, pranced into General Duval's paddock stall and listened intently as old Gabe bent over him. "Yo' ain't fo'got whut we tole yo' last night, son?" asked Gabe in anxious tones. "Ain't fo'got nuthin'," was the sober answer. "'Cause eve'ything 'pend on how it look."
Well, I must say!" "Ya-as," drawled Captain Josiah, "thanks was what I said. If it wan't for him this gang and the sewin' circle wouldn't have nothin' to talk about but their neighbors. Our reputations would be as full of holes as a skimmer by this time. Now all hands are so busy jumpin' on Whit, that the rest of us can feel fairly safe. Ain't that so, Gabe?" Mr.
Gabe was, as usual, waiting at the station when the down train arrived, on the Tuesday or Wednesday of the selectmen's meeting. The train was due, according to the time-table, at eleven forty-five. This time-table, and the signboard of the "Bayport Hotel" are the only bits of humorous literature peculiar to our village, unless we add the political editorials of the Bayport Breeze.
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