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Updated: June 16, 2025
Others said, however, that, though there was good Reason to think it was a Damon, yet he did come with Intent to bite the Heel of that faithful Servant, etc. One Gilson is said to have died of the bite of a rattlesnake in this town early in the present century.
"What did you think of my nice Daggett boy?" Claire demanded of Eva Gilson, the moment bruncheon was over. "Which one was Oh, the boy you met on the road? Why, really, I didn't notice him particularly. I'd rather fancied from the way you referred to him that he was awfully jolly and forceful, but rather crude. But I didn't notice him at all. He seemed perfectly well-bred, but slightly heavy."
Then her fretting was lost in the excitement of approaching Seattle and their host Claire's cousin, Eugene Gilson, an outrageously prosperous owner of shingle-mills. He came from an old Brooklyn Heights family. He had married Eva Gontz of Englewood. He liked music and wrote jokey little letters and knew the addresses of all the best New York shops.
Milt's delight in every picturesque dark corner, and the colloquial eloquence of the street-orators, stirred her. And when she saw a shopgirl caress the hand of a slouching beau in threadbare brown, her own hand slipped into Milt's and clung there. But they came shyly up to the Gilson hedge, and when Milt chuckled, "Bully walk; let's do it again," she said only, "Oh, yes, I did like it.
And she felt stuffy and choking and overpacked with food. She wanted to be out on the road, clear-headed, forcing her way through, an independent human being with Milt not too far behind. Mrs. Gilson was droning, "I do think Mattie Vincent is so nice." "Rather dull I'd call her," yawned Mr. Gilson. Mattie was the seventh of their recent guests whom he had called dull by now.
He stood about keeping from doing anything he might want to, and he was profusely polite to young cubs whom he longed to have in his office so that he could get even with them. What Mr. Riggs wanted to do, at the third large tea given by Mrs. Gilson for Miss Claire Boltwood, was to sneak out on the sun-porch and play over the new records on the phonograph; but the things he had heard from Mrs.
"Why, pretty fair," said Milt. Into the room precipitated Mrs. Gilson, in a smile, a super-sweater, and a sports skirt that would have been soiled by any variety of sport more violent than pinochle, and she was wailing as she came: "We're disgraced, Gene, is this Mr.
Gilson, delighted by the possibility of tragedy; and "Really, I'm not exaggerating," said Jeff enthusiastically. "What are we going to do?" demanded Mrs. Gilson; while Mr. Gilson, being of a ready and inventive mind, exclaimed, "By Jove, you ought to kidnap her and marry her yourself, Jeff!" "I'd like to. But I'm too old."
Before one of the attacks, a soldier came to Gilson with his wife's picture, watch, ring, and money, and his home address. "I'm not going to come out," said the soldier. It happened so. The Commandant's pockets were heavy with these mementoes of the predestined the letters of boys to their mothers. He had that tenderness and agreeable sentiment which seem to go with bravery.
How do you do," refuted Mrs. Gilson. Jeff Saxton turned a ripe purple. "How do you like my new bug, Claire? Awful little object. But I can make fifty an hour. Come and try it, Claire, can't you?" "Why " Claire was obviously shocked by the impropriety of the suggestion. She looked at Mrs. Gilson, who was breathing as though she was just going under the ether.
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