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Updated: June 21, 2025


The place, as Gulmore said, would be of no use to him. He was weary of fighting which only ended in defeat, and could only end in a victory that would be worthless. Mayor, indeed! If he had a chance of becoming a Member of Congress, that would be different. And across his brain flitted the picture so often evoked by imagination in earlier years. Why not? Gulmore could make it certain. Would he?

You have given me courage and hope," and he folded her in his arms. Mr. Gulmore liked to spend his evenings with his wife and daughter. It amused him to hear what they had been doing during the day. Their gossip had its value; sentimental or spiteful, it threw quaint sidelights upon character. On the evening before the Faculty meeting Ida was bending over a book, while Mr.

The young man's tone was so conclusive that it closed the conversation. Mr. Gulmore had not been trained for a political career. He had begun life as a clerk in a hardware store in his native town. But in his early manhood the Abolition agitation had moved him deeply the colour of his skin, he felt, would never have made him accept slavery and he became known as a man of extreme views.

"Honourable" and Gulmore the two words wouldn't go together. Could it be? A glance at the contents-bill brought a flush to his face. He gave a quarter for the sheet, and as the boy fumbled for change he said, taking hold of the bill: "I want this too; you can keep the rest of the money," and hurried into the house.

The Professor's tone was frank, his sincerity evident, but Simpson went on: "Don't ye? Perhaps Hutchin's has sent you to say, as he's sick it'd be well to run Robinson on both tickets eh?" "I don't know what you mean. I expected to meet Mr. Hutchings here. Is he ill?" "He'll get well soon, I reckon; but after taking a perscription from Gulmore, he's mighty bad and can't leave the house."

Taking up the thread of a conversation that had been broken off by his wife's presence, Mr. Gulmore began: "I don't say Roberts'll win, Ida. The bettin' 's the other way; but I'm not sure, for I don't know the crowd. He may come out on top, though I hev noticed that young men who run into their first fight and get badly whipped ain't likely to fight desperate the second time.

He had a heart, too; and though a phlegmatic and a rude one, it could not remain insensible to the chaste charms and virtuous beauty of Bridget O'Clery. For years this feeling was growing on him the exhortations, and lectures, and advices of little Parson Gulmore to the contrary notwithstanding.

Influence comes with time, an' you had youth on your side." "That may be your philosophy, Mr. Gulmore," said Roberts lightly, as the other paused, "but it's not mine. I'm satisfied with one or two falls; they've taught me that the majority is with you." Gulmore's seriousness relaxed still further; he saw his opponent's ingenuousness, and took his statement as a tribute to his own power.

A municipal election, or, indeed, any election, afforded Mr. Gulmore many opportunities of quiet but intense self-satisfaction. He loved the struggle and the consciousness that from his office-chair he had so directed his forces that victory was assured. He always allowed a broad margin in order to cover the unforeseen.

In an easy-chair by the open bay-window a man with a cigar in his mouth was reading a newspaper. Jonathan Byrne Gulmore, as he always signed himself, was about fifty years of age; his heavy frame was muscular, and the coarse dark hair and swarthy skin showed vigorous health.

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