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Updated: June 17, 2025
Mr. Gladsby chuckled at his own joke. "'Power of the press'?" murmured Mr. Cantwell, uncomfortably. "Surely you don't mean, Gadsby, that this mere boy, this High School student, is going to be taken here seriously as representing the undoubtedly great power of the press?" "To some extent, yes," admitted Mr. Gadsby. "'The Blade, as you may know, is a good deal of a power in local politics.
He seems to be a man that can't be candid and straightforward. He acts as if he thought we shucks, I wish he had come out like a man and told us what hotel he " "Now you've struck it! you've struck it sure, Washington; he has told us." "Has he?" "Yes, he has; but he didn't mean to. That alley is a lonesome little pocket that runs along one side of the New Gadsby. That's his hotel."
"They're hevin' a good time," he began, nodding towards the dancers. "Dick's in his element to-night." "Rhoda Gadsby makes him a good partner," replied Mrs. Larkins. "Only fair, Mrs. Larkins, only fair. She's not a bad girl, but no real pardner fer my son Dick. I'm sorry her father is my opponent at the comin' election. He'll never win, mark my word. Gadsby's too full of notions.
These dreadful chromos which he takes for old masters; these villainous portraits which to his frantic mind represent Rossmores; the hatchments; the pompous name of this ramshackle old crib Rossmore Towers; and that odd assertion of his, that I was expected. How could I be expected? that is, Lord Berkeley. He knows by the papers that that person was burned up in the New Gadsby.
He is the right kind of man for humble, queer-thinking; determined, sincerely-singular Christians; is just the sort of person you should hear when the "blues" are on you; has much pathos, much fire, much uncurbed virtue in him; is a sort of theological Bailey's Dictionary rough, ready, outspoken, unconventional, and funny; is a second Gadsby in oddness, and force, and sincerity, but lacks Gadsby's learning.
Some of the most unexceptionable women in the neighborhood occasionally went to see the hounds throw off; but it happened that none of them were present this morning to abstain from following, while Mrs. Gadsby, with her doubtful antecedents, grammatical and otherwise, was not visible to make following seem unbecoming.
Isn't your Mother ready yet? MISS T. I should think so; but promise me, Captain Gadsby, you won't take poor dear Mamma twice round Jakko any more. It tires her so. CAPT. G. She says that no exercise tires her. MISS T. Yes, but she suffers afterwards. You don't know what rheumatism is, and you oughtn't to keep her out so late, when it gets chill in the evenings.
But they seem all complacent, and the "happy family" element predominates. Mr. O'Dell suits them; they suit Mr. O'Dell; and if he had only a fuller chapel a better salary, too, wouldn't be despised by him he could send up his orisons with more courage, and preach to the sinners around him with the steam hammer force of a Gadsby. No. "My respecks to St.
Left wondering. And ye shall be as Gods! SCENE. Thymy grass-plot at back of the Mahasu dak-bungalow, overlooking little wooded valley. On the left, glimpse of the Dead Forest of Fagoo; on the right, Simla Hills. In background, line of the Snows. CAPTAIN GADSBY, now three weeks a husband, is smoking the pipe of peace on a rug in the sunshine. Banjo and tobacco-pouch on rug.
He'll dig out General Gadsby and fix up something for you. In the meantime, get us rooms at the Savoy, though Mother is worried as to whether it's a respectable place for Deans to stay at. But I know you wouldn't like to meet us at Sturrocks's otherwise you would have been there yourself. Meet our train. All love from Doggie engaged the rooms, but he did not meet the train.
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