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Updated: June 28, 2025
Shorthouse felt his arm knocked up before he had time to turn, and the same second Garvey, who had somehow managed to burst open the window came between him and the trembling Marx. His lips were parted and his eyes rolled strangely in his distorted face. "Don't shoot him! Shoot in the air!" he shrieked. He seized the Jew by the shoulders. "You damned hound," he roared, hissing in his face.
It was a bleak country that Joel Garvey, Esq., formerly of Chicago, had chosen for his residence and on this particular afternoon it presented a more than usually dismal appearance. An expanse of flat fields covered with dirty snow stretched away on all sides till the sky dropped down to meet them.
"There are valuable papers in my possession bearing his signature. I cannot inform you of their nature; but they are extremely valuable to me. They belong, as a matter of fact, to Garvey as much as to me. Only I've got them " "I see." "Garvey writes that he wants to have his signature removed wants to cut it out with his own hand. He gives reasons which incline me to consider his request "
On the 28th of November, the brigade marched on Cawnpore, when, meeting the enemy, a party of thirty-six bluejackets, with two twenty-four pounders, under Lieutenant Hay, with Mr Garvey, mate, and Mr H.A. Lascelles, did good service.
The brigade's guns were most actively engaged in battering the Begum's palace; and it was here, on the 12th, that Mr Garvey, mate, as he was riding fast on in front of a row of cohorns to deliver a message, and not perceiving that the quick-matches were alight, was struck dead by one of the shells. He was the second officer of the brigade killed, and a most promising young man.
Night brought some relief. Again the moon rose upon the tragic scene, and it grew cooler. Before the twilight had quite faded, Kid Wolf and Dave Robbins saw something that made them boil inwardly the burial of Bill Robbins on Boot Hill! Out of revolver range, a group of the bandits was filling up the grave. Garvey had made half of his threat good. And he was biding his time to complete his boast.
Then they did some one-step pieces with lots of pep in 'em, and the way Garvey could roll the sticks, and tinkle the triangle, and keep the cymbals and base drum goin' with his foot was as good to watch as a jugglin' act, even if he does leak a lot on the face when he gets through. "You're some jazz artist, I'll say," says I. "So will the neighbors, I'm afraid," says Mrs. Garvey.
'Right, title, and interest in and to' . . . 'forever warrant and No, Garvey, we'll have to leave out that 'defend," said Goree with a loud laugh. "You'll have to defend this title yourself." The mountaineer received the amazing screed that the lawyer handed him, folded it with immense labour, and laced it carefully in his pocket. Goree was standing near the window.
So I'm a little surprised the followin' Sunday afternoon to see the Garvey limousine stoppin' out front. As I happens to be wanderin' around outside I steps up to the gate just as Garvey is gettin' out. "Ah, Ballard!" he says, cordial. "I want to thank you and Mrs. Ballard for picking Mrs. Garvey up the other day when our fool chauffeur went to sleep at the switch. It it was mighty decent of you."
He spoke with a marked friendliness, and a transparently covert sympathy. "You see," he went on, confidentially, "we fellows that have been against Garvey begin to think our minority's about over. The whole affair of Miss Northrop has hurt him. He was shabby when first she came, about that Coakley business, and he's been ugly about her ever since in a sneaking sort of way. Such a lady, too!
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