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Updated: May 29, 2025
They had reached the Randolph Street end of the avenue, and a policeman, like Moses cleaving the Red Sea, had opened the way through the tide of motors for a throng of pedestrians bound across the viaduct to the Illinois Central suburban station. "Come across here," said Galbraith taking her by the arm and stemming this current with her.
She had one figure clearly etched in her brain; that was the one hundred and ninety dollars she must pay back to Galbraith; and she'd put in fifty of her own. There was also a matter of twenty dollars or so still to be paid to the wardrobe mistress and her assistant. But this four hundred and sixty-five dollars had simply come out of the air.
Yet the audacity of her pose had in it a certain fitness and was piquant rather than offensive. The instant she crossed the threshold, Robert Morton leaped to meet her with outstretched hands. "Cynthia Galbraith!" he cried. "How ever came you here?" A ripple of teasing laughter came from the girl. "You are surprised then; I thought you would be." "Surprised? I can't believe it."
Galbraith knew that the Sergeant would trust no one to feed his horse but himself, and the offer therefore was made with design. Sergeant Tom replied instantly: "No, I'll do it if someone will show me the grass pile." Pierre slipped quietly from the counter, and said, "I know the way, Galbraith. I will show."
Sclater also looked interested: she did not much like Duff, and by this time she suspected Donal of genius. Donal turned to Ginevra with a smile, and said, in the best English he could command "Bear with me a moment, Miss Galbraith. If Mr. Duff will oblige me by answering my question, I trust I shall satisfy you I am no turncoat." Fergus stared.
Fergus read them, and remarked he had read better, but the first stanza had a slight flavour of Shelley. "I don't care a straw about their merit or demerit," said Mr. Galbraith; "poetry is nothing but spoilt prose. What I want to know is, whether they do not suggest a reason for your want of success with Jenny. Do you know the writing?" "I cannot say I do.
"For shame, Garschattachin!" exclaimed the Bailie; "fy for shame, sir! Wad ye say sic things before a magistrate, and bring yoursell into trouble? "D n my creditors!" retorted the gallant Galbraith, "and you if ye be ane o' them!
Galbraith, unable to endure the sight of Bob's rigid self-denial, had delicately hinted at assistance, only to have the offer as delicately declined. It hurt and piqued the financier to be so firmly kept at a distance and be obliged to witness privations which a small gift of money might have alleviated; moreover he liked his own way and did not enjoy being balked in it by a schoolboy.
In one of the most prominent sets, and the slowest in uncovering, was Cal Galbraith with the 'Spirit of the Pole. Opposite him was Jack Harrington and the 'Russian Princess. The rest had discovered themselves, yet the 'Greek Dancer' was still missing. All eyes were upon the group. Cal Galbraith, in response to their cries, lifted his partner's mask.
That's what Mr. Galbraith did. I reckon there warn't a corner of this whole place he didn't fish into. 'Twas amusin' to see him. He said it took him back to the days when he was a boy. I couldn't but smile to watch him fussin' with the plane an' saw an' hammer like as if they was old friends he hadn't clapped eyes on for years."
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