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Updated: May 22, 2025
"What fur sermont did yous have this morning?" asked Mr. Wackernagel, his mouth full of chicken. "We had Levi Harnish. He preached good," said Mrs. Wackernagel. "Ain't he did, Tillie?" "Yes," replied Tillie, coloring with the guilty consciousness that scarcely a word of that sermon had she heard. "I like to hear a sermont, like hisn, that does me good to my heart," said Mrs. Wackernagel.
She smiled, and looked him straight in the eyes for a moment, then dropped her own. "Surely, you understand, Mr. Harnish." He shook his head glumly. "I do, and I don't. I ain't used to city ways by a long shot. There's things one mustn't do, which I don't mind as long as I don't want to do them." "But when you do?" she asked quickly. "Then I do them."
Kearns had dealt, and French Louis had opened the pot with one marker in his case one hundred dollars. Campbell had merely "seen" it, but Elam Harnish, corning next, had tossed in five hundred dollars, with the remark to MacDonald that he was letting him in easy. MacDonald, glancing again at his hand, put in a thousand in markers. Kearns, debating a long time over his hand, finally "saw."
It then cost French Louis nine hundred to remain in the game, which he contributed after a similar debate. It cost Campbell likewise nine hundred to remain and draw cards, but to the surprise of all he saw the nine hundred and raised another thousand. "You-all are on the grade at last," Harnish remarked, as he saw the fifteen hundred and raised a thousand in turn.
He knew that what he was doing was in direct violation of her wishes, and that he was setting her a difficult task to receive as a Sunday caller the multimillionaire and notorious Elam Harnish of newspaper fame. On the other hand, the one thing he did not expect of her was what he would have termed "silly female capers." And in this he was not disappointed.
It is the unexpected that upsets their stereotyped calculations any new combination, any strange factor, any fresh variant. And you will be all that to them, Mr. Harnish. And I repeat, they are gamblers, and they will deserve all that befalls them. They clog and cumber all legitimate enterprise.
In the Yukon men gambled their lives for gold, and those that won gold from the ground gambled for it with one another. Nor was Elam Harnish an exception. He was a man's man primarily, and the instinct in him to play the game of life was strong. Environment had determined what form that game should take.
"But it is," she interrupted. "I wouldn't dare permit myself to care for you. Happiness, for me, would not lie that way. I like you, Mr. Harnish, and all that, but it can never be more than that."
This was one of the great Guggenhammer family; a younger one, but nevertheless one of the crowd with which he had locked grapples in the North. Nor did Leon Guggenhammer fail to mention cognizance of that old affair. He complimented Daylight on his prowess "The echoes of Ophir came down to us, you know. And I must say, Mr. Daylight er, Mr. Harnish, that you whipped us roundly in that affair."
The eyes shifted to Harnish, who scribbled on a piece of paper and shoved it forward. "I'll just let you-all know this ain't no Sunday-school society of philanthropy," he said. "I see you, Jack, and I raise you a thousand. Here's where you-all get action on your pat, Mac." "Action's what I fatten on, and I lift another thousand," was MacDonald's rejoinder. "Still got that hunch, Jack?"
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