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Updated: June 24, 2025
No one dropped in perhaps all were tired of hearing him talk. It was not yet the hour for Professor Hardage to walk in. A watering-cart creaked slowly past the door and the gush of the drops of water sounded like a shower and the smell of the dust was strong. Far away in some direction were heard the cries of school children at play in the street.
"No one could disentangle fact and fiction and affection in them. "Some years ago," he said one day to Professor Hardage, "I was a good deal gayer than I am now and so was he. We cemented a friendship in a certain way, no matter what: that is a story I'm not going to tell. And he came to live with me on that footing of friendship.
Nevertheless, there was one thing that she preferred even to butter; he would ensnare her in her own weakness, catch her in her own net: he would take her a jar of cream. Miss Anna was in her usual high spirits that morning. She was trying a new recipe for some dinner comfort for Professor Hardage, when her old cook, who also answered the doorbell, returned to the kitchen with word that Mr.
What description can be given in words of that bond between two, when the woman stands near the foot of the upward slope of life, and the man is already passing down on the sunset side, with lengthening afternoon shadows on the gray of his temples between them the cold separating peaks of a generation? Such a generation of toiling years separated Professor Hardage from Isabel Conyers.
When Alfred Hardage was eighteen, he had turned his eyes toward a professorship in one of the great universities of his country; before he was thirty he had won a professorship in the small but respectable college of his native town; and now, when past fifty, he had never won anything more.
My time is limited; and you have no right to shut out from me so much that you know your learning, your wisdom, yourself. And I know a few things that I have picked up in a lifetime. Surely we ought to have something to say to each other." But when he came, Professor Hardage was glad to let him find relief in his monologues fragments of self-revelation.
"Hardage, we can climb so high that we freeze." They turned back. The Judge spoke again with a certain sad pride: "I like their mettle, it is Shakespearean mettle, it is American mettle. We lie in business, and we lie in religion, and we lie to women. Perhaps if a man stopped lying to a woman, by and by he might begin to stop lying for money, and at last stop lying with his Maker.
"Ah, I knew your mother when she was young and your grandmother when she was young: you're all alike." "We, are so glad we are," said Marguerite, as she danced away from him under her parasol. Farther down the street she met Professor Hardage. "I know all about your old Odyssey your old Horace and all those things," she said threateningly. "I am not as ignorant as you think."
Victor Fielding lay under the trees with a pipe and a book, but she never ventured near him. So Harriet bethought herself of a certain friend of hers on the other side of town, Miss Anna Hardage, who lived with her brother, Professor Hardage two people to trust.
His carriage was waiting for him and he entered it and went home. Some minutes later, Judge Morris came down and walked to the Hardages'. He rang and asked for Professor Hardage and waited for him on the door-step. When Professor Hardage appeared, he said to him very solemnly: "Get your hat." The two men walked away, the Judge directing their course toward the edge of the town.
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