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Updated: June 3, 2025
It was a great temptation. 'Look here, Joe, said Bill Galletly in a quieter tone. 'I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll let YOU have the buggy. You can take it out and send along a bit of a cheque when you feel you can manage it, and the rest later on, a year will do, or even two years. You've had a hard pull, and I'm not likely to be hard up for money in a hurry.
He almost felt as if her sins on the grand scale were less blameworthy than the petty vices of her censorious neighbours. Galletly eagerly joined the group of loungers on the dirty wet platform, and Telford passed into the store. A couple of slatternly women were talking to Mrs. Rykman about "the Palmer row." Telford made his small purchases hastily.
As the minister drove down the hill, a man came out of a small house at the foot and waited on the road. Had it been possible Telford would have pretended not to see him, but it was not possible, for Isaac Galletly meant to be seen and hailed the minister cheerfully. "Good mornin', Mr. Telford. Ye won't mind giving me a lift down to the Corner, I dessay?"
'Look here, Bob, said Bill; 'here's a chance for you to get rid of your harness. Joe Wilson's going to take that buggy off my hands. Bob Galletly put his foot up on a saw-stool, took one hand out of his pockets, rested his elbow on his knee and his chin on the palm of his hand, and bunched up his big beard with his fingers, as he always did when he was thinking.
He had been nicknamed "The Morning Chronicle" by a sarcastic schoolteacher who had sojourned a winter at the Corner. The name was an apt one and clung. Telford had heard it. I suppose he is starting out on his rounds now, he thought. Galletly plunged undauntedly into the conversational gap. "Quite a fall of snow last night. Reckon we'll have more 'fore long.
I went into the painter's shop to have a look at a double buggy that Galletly had built for a man who couldn't pay cash for it when it was finished and Galletly wouldn't trust him. There it stood, behind a calico screen that the coach-painters used to keep out the dust when they were varnishing. It was a first-class piece of work pole, shafts, cushions, whip, lamps, and all complete.
They were good fellows the Galletlys, but they knew their men. I happened to know that Bill Galletly wouldn't let the man he built the buggy for take it out of the shop without cash down, though he was a big-bug round there. But that didn't make it easier for me. Just then Robert Galletly came into the shop. He was rather quieter than his brother, but the two were very much alike.
Now you're a full-blown squatter, and it's time you took little Mary for a fly round in her own buggy now and then, instead of having her stuck out there in the scrub, or jolting through the dust in a cart like some old Mother Flourbag. He called her 'little Mary' because the Galletly family had known her when she was a girl. I rubbed my head and looked at the buggy again.
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