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Updated: June 25, 2025
Tommy Garton had his new legs from Chicago, and from the seat of a buckboard, sometimes from the ground where his crutches sank into the soft sand, he advised Brayley and watched the work. Conniston was in the mountains, and the Lark with fifty men was with him.
But the colour in the kitchen, the warmth, the scents, and all those faces, heightened the bleakness of their shiny room, and they resumed their seats moodily. "Regular gipsy type, those boys. There was only one Saxon the fellow cleaning the gun. That girl is a very subtle study psychologically." Ashurst's lips twitched. Garton seemed to him an ass just then. Subtle study! She was a wild flower.
"Mr. er Handyman, can speak for himself," Garton replied. "I am not thinking so much of myself, Mr. Stubbles," Douglas told him, "as of the parish in general. If you agree not to act like a tyrant in the future and not to meddle in Church matters, and stop persecuting every clergyman who comes here unless he bows to your slightest wish, then I am satisfied." "Do you think I am a fool?"
He thought of Theocritus, and the river Cherwell, of the moon, and the maiden with the dewy eyes; of so many things that he seemed to think of nothing; and he felt absurdly happy. During a late and sumptuous tea with eggs to it, cream and jam, and thin, fresh cakes touched with saffron, Garton descanted on the Celts.
He had not hoped to see Argyl for many days yet, perhaps many weeks, and the unexpected sight of her thrilled through him, driving all thoughts of Jocelyn out of his mind. And when in a few minutes he was forced to remember that he had business with Garton he left reluctantly and with a promise to have dinner at six o'clock with her and her father.
"No one else," Garton answered him, pleasantly. "Tom Garton at your service. And you're Conniston from the Half Moon?" He put out his hand without rising. Conniston took it, surprised as he did so at the quick, strong grip of the slender fingers. "I'm glad to know you, Conniston. Glad you're to be with us. Oh yes, I knew a couple of days ago that you were coming over. Mr.
Garton rolled over suddenly, thrust his hand again under his pillow, and sat up. "Say, Bill!" he called, softly. Wallace turned, and as he did so he looked square into the muzzle of a heavy-caliber Colt revolver upon which the lamplight shone dully. "Stop that!" cried Garton, sternly, as the sheriff's hand started automatically to his hip. "I've got the drop on you, Bill.
As he was going out Garton called to him, his voice and face alike as cheerful as they had been throughout the afternoon. "I say, Conniston. Remember me to Miss Argyl, will you? She's a glorious girl. I never saw her match. She's got the same capability for doing big things that her father has. I said the other day that he was the whole brain and brawn of this war for reclamation.
But how did he come to lose his money?" "He invested it, like so many other simpletons, in that Big Chief mining concern. I did the same, and so lost what little I had." "No, you haven't," and Garton picked up one of the letters by his side. "I have good news for you and the professor. The Big Chief has revived and is going stronger than ever.
I believe that it is. I do not know, I cannot know, if I can do it. I believe that I can. If you have a better man, if in Denver or anywhere else you can find a better man, put him in Truxton's place. If you can't, if you want me to go ahead with the work, I'll do it." "Then that is settled. Confer often with Tommy Garton. If you need advice while I am away, go to him.
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