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Updated: June 17, 2025
That's right; swing your arms. One two three! THERE you go!" Another silence. "ZING! Well, sir, I'll be e-tarnally snitched to flinders if you didn't do it THAT time, Bill Hammersley! I see I never really saw any jumping before in all my born days. It's eleven feet if it's an inch. What? You say you "
The direct road to Hammersley Lake, formerly called Quaker Hill Pond, has made possible a moderate indulgence in carriage-driving. The laying out of the golf links in 1897 set going that dignified sport, just as the Wayside Path in 1880 occasioned some mild pedestrianism.
"Could he have heard me?" "No," she whispered. "He's just come out of the house." And then to herself, "Who under heaven is Bill Hammersley? I never heard of HIM!" "Of course, Bill," said the voice beyond the fence, "if you're afraid I'll beat you TOO badly, you've still got time to back out. I did understand you to kind of hint that you were considerable of a jumper, but if What?
The gallant general was accompanied by his lovely and accomplished daughter, and his military secretary and aide-de-camp, Major Hammersley, of the 2d Life Guards. They partook of a hurried déjeuné with the Burgomaster, and left immediately after for Brussels. Twice I read this over, while a burning, hot sensation settled upon my throat and temples. "So Hammersley still persists; he still hopes.
He has hit me; and now I'll hit him." Both seconds agreed this was impossible. "It is the chance of war," said Major Rickards; "you cannot be allowed to take a cool shot at Mr. Neville. If you fire again, so must he." "The affair may very well end here," said Mr. Hammersley.
"Well, Charley," said Power, laying his arm upon my shoulder, "the French have given us the slip this time; they are already in march, and even if we dared force a passage in the face of such an enemy, it seems there is not a boat to be found. I have just seen Hammersley." "Indeed! Where is he?" said I. "He's gone back to Villa de Conde; he asked after you most particularly.
Beasley had to BATHE him the other day, he told me! And Bill Hammersley is supposed to be a boy of Hamilton Swift, Junior's own age, but very big and strong; he has rosy cheeks, and he can do more in athletics than a whole college track-team. That's the reason he outjumped Dave so far, you see." Miss Apperthwaite was at home the following Saturday.
"What were you in the village for?" he asked, bending to her; "I did not know you had anything to do there!" "I had been to see old Bessie Hammersley and Mrs. Batchelor," she said, in a tone that tried to be stiff or indifferent. "Bessie begged, as usual." "That was very good of you. Have you been doing visiting, then, during all these days I have been away?" "Yes a few people." George groaned.
The features, save in this respect, had almost a look of idiocy. It was Hammersley. "Ha!" he cried at last, "I have sought you out the entire day, but in vain. It is not yet too late. Give me your hand, boy. You once called on me to follow you, and I did not refuse; I trust you'll do the like by me. Is it not so?"
My frame of mind as Power left me was by no means an enviable one. A quarrel is rarely a happy incident in a man's life, still less is it so when the difference arises with one we are disposed to like and respect. Such was Hammersley.
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