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Updated: May 11, 2025
Yet, as he leaned forward trying to catch more and not hearing it, he thought how willingly he would change places with the murderer for just those expressions of pleading from her lips! "Excuse me, Mr. McElroy," Miss Gregget was saying, rather coolly because of his impertinence in mussing her hair, "there are other calls I'd better take the board!" He turned then and went down the stairs.
She took a few minutes to thank him again, graciously, conventionally; nor did she mention the present by name, because it was a good-naturedly accepted neighborhood fact that Miss Gregget listened.
"Will you go to the chapel with me this afternoon? Four o'clock?" "Y yes! I think it will be fun!" "Fun! That's worse than 'audience' and 'pulpit'! Shall we ride or drive?" "Let's ride." "And Jane!" Pause "Yes?" "It's my happiest birthday, too!" She laughed. "How old are you, Brent?" "My eyes have been open for a month; how old does that make?" "A very small infant!" Miss Gregget snickered.
Recognizing the town operator's voice she frantically called: "Miss Gregget, this is Jane Whitly! well, never mind the name! this is Colonel May's house!" She was numb, and fearful of those passionate hands which might any instant drag her from the instrument. "Tell the sheriff to come quick!" she screamed. "Dale Dawson has killed Tusk Potter!"
Little did the sheriff, Dale or Jane know that Brent rode back to town like mad, threw himself from his horse and dashed up the stair leading to the telephone office above the drug-store. He fairly bounded in upon Miss Gregget, crying: "Quick! Give me the Colonel's!"
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