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Updated: May 24, 2025
Not even the white-souled censors of the great state of Pennsylvania could have outlawed its realism, brutal though this was in such great moments as when Gashwiler carved the roast beef. So able was his artistry that Merton's nostrils would sometimes betray him he could swear they caught rich aromas from that distant board.
He let his lower instincts toy with the unworthy vision. Gashwiler would advance him the money to return, and the job would be there. Probably Spencer Grant had before this tired of the work and gone into insurance or some other line, and probably Gashwiler would be only too glad to have the wanderer back. He would get off No. 3 just in time for breakfast.
Gashwiler instantly forgot his theme, began to ply the lady with a certain bovine-like gallantry, which it is to be said to her credit she parried with a playful, terrier-like dexterity, when the servant suddenly announced, "Mr. Wiles." Gashwiler started. Not so Mrs. Hopkinson, who, however, prudently and quietly removed her own chair several inches from Gashwiler's. "Do you know Mr.
He had lately given up smoking save those clandestine indulgences at the expense of Gashwiler because he was saving money against his great day. Elmer lighted one of his own little pills and made a further suggestion. "Say, how about settin' in a little game with the gang to-night after the store closes ten-cent limit?" "No, thanks," replied Merton, again firmly.
But for these trifles he had every reason to be satisfied with the progress of his plans. "It's all right," said Mrs. Hopkinson merrily; "while you and Gashwiler have been working with your 'stock, and treating the whole world as if it could be bribed, I've done more with that earnest, self-believing, self-deceiving, and perfectly pathetic Roscommon than all you fellows put together.
There was a military suspicion about him that would have entitled him to a court-martial on the spot. There was an introduction, from which I learned that my office-seeking friend's name was Expectant Dobbs. And then Gashwiler addressed me: "Our young friend here is waiting, waiting. Waiting, I may say, on the affairs of State. Youth," continued the Hon. Mr.
He recalled now the wondrous occasion on which he had travelled the nearly hundred miles to Peoria to see his idol in the flesh. Her personal appearance had been advertised. It was on a Saturday night, but Merton had silenced old Gashwiler with the tale of a dying aunt in the distant city. Even so, the old grouch had been none too considerate.
"He throwed you off right into the dirt didn't he throw you right off into the dirt, Merton?" With a harsher show of authority, or perhaps merely because he was bearded so unreasoning are the inhibitions of the young Gashwiler stilled the tumult. The dancing died. "What's this mean?" he repeated. "We nearly had an accident," said the lady. "What's this mean?"
And each day, as the little hoard was diminished by even those slender repasts at the drug store, he ran his film of the Gashwiler dining room in action. From time to time he would see the Montague girl, alone or with her mother, entering the casting office or perhaps issuing from the guarded gate. He avoided her when possible.
The Gashwiler carriage horse had been tethered to this in the days before the Gashwiler touring car had been acquired. "Dwelling of a country storekeeper!" muttered Merton. "That's all you are!" This was intended to be scornful. Merton meant that on the screen it would be recognized as this and nothing more.
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