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Updated: June 27, 2025
Grit's half trainin'!" "I wish I could be there to see him beaten!" Ida had tried to turn her wounded pride into dislike, and was succeeding. "I hate to feel he's in the same town with us the coward!" At this moment Mrs. Gulmore reentered the room. "To think of it! Sal left the gas-stove flarin'. I made her get up and come downstairs to put it out. That'll learn her!
A pain shot through her breast, but she carried her part of the dead weight, saying nothing, and, at high noon, pushed her jingling, jangling cart through streets sharply outlined with sunlight and shadow to a dilapidated brick warehouse that, long since, had taken the place of Grit's junk-yard.
"What is it, old boy?" asked Dick. "Is something wrong?" And Grit's manner showed very plainly that there was. But what it was no one could guess. "How is she coming, Dick?" asked Innis, a little later. "Can I relieve you?" "No, I'm not tired. It's only a nervous sort of feeling. I feel as if I were trying to push the airship along." "I know how it is," murmured the cadet. "But just take it easy.
She galloped steadily, her eyes fixed on the cloud of dust only a few hundred yards ahead of them, which told where the enemy was galloping, too. Jim Montfort glanced at her, and nodded to himself. "She'll do!" he said in his beard. "Montfort grit's good grit, and she's got it. This would be nuts to little Peggy."
"There he goes!" cried Paul. Dick gave a gasp of despair. Grit let out a howl of fear. And then, as Larry Dexter leaned over the side, he gave a cry of surprise. "Look!" he shouted. "Grit's caught by a rope and he's hanging there by his teeth!" And, as Dick looked, he saw a strange sight. Trailing over the side of the airship deck was a piece of rope, that had become loosed.
Great Taylor mumbled disparagingly, "He got it from a book!" And again she read the fighting phrase of Grit's hero: "I have drawn the sword and thrown away the scabbard." "Can't mean Grit," she mused.
It was one thing from which she could not wash Grit's grimy fingermarks, and so she disliked it even more than the sticky molasses jug. "Him and his book and his brown molasses jug!" One was gone forever, and soon she would get rid of the other two.
But, man! I wad hae repentit lang syne gin I cud hae gotten ae glimp o' a possible justice in pittin a hert as grit's mine into sic a misgreein', scrimpit, contemptible body as this. The verra sowl o' me has to draw up the legs o' 't to haud them inside this coffin o' a corpus, and haud them ohn shot oot into the everlastin' cauld.
She drooped there over an old coverless book, spelling out the words and trying to forget the pain that was no longer confined to her breast. From shoulder to hip molten slag pulsed slowly through her veins and great drops of sweat moved from her temples and made white-bottomed rivulets among the smudges of her cheeks. "I'm done," she mumbled, closing Grit's book. "I got a right to quit.
"I think we are going to get on," he said significantly. "But you must remember that Grit can't take care of you any longer." "Grit's gone," assented Nell; "gone for good." "Uhm." The man allowed his singular eyes to move over her. "I think we can arrange something. I've seen you pass my place, looking in; and I had something in mind when I started up here something aside from junk.
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