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He stopped abruptly as he perceived how excited his classmate was, but before he could make any inquiries Will broke in: "We've got a lot of sophs shut up in Peter John's room! Get some of the fellows and make for the room! Hawley's holding 'em in! Tell Jones and Camp to come and then tell them to get some more and every one to bring two or three with him.
I still took an hour from them, now and again, in spite of Jack Hawley's warning: it would be time enough to dismiss them, if dismissal should be necessary, when the rigour of the season was over. Hawley had made their acquaintance he had met them at my fireside and thought them a ridiculous pair.
"Yes; I'm sure I could, only they won't give me another chance. They'll send me home first." "Who's your instructor?" "Miss Prescott." Patty frowned, and then she laughed. "I thought if it were Miss Hawley I could go to her and explain the matter and ask her to give you a reëxamination. Miss Hawley's occasionally human. But Miss Prescott! No wonder you flunked. I'm afraid of her myself.
After the word chicanery there was a growing noise, half of murmurs and half of hisses, while four persons started up at once Mr. Hawley, Mr. Toller, Mr. Chichely, and Mr. Hackbutt; but Mr. Hawley's outburst was instantaneous, and left the others behind in silence. "If you mean me, sir, I call you and every one else to the inspection of my professional life.
"Our friends back yonder should be turning out from the corral by now," he said finally, anxious to break the silence, for she had not spoken since he ended his tale. "It will not be long until they discover Hawley's predicament, and perhaps the welkin already rings with profanity. That may even account for the blue haze out yonder."
"I could. I could recite the numbers of them clocks frontways an' backways," answered Ebenezer. "You could, too, if you had 'em to wind." "Oh, you wind them now, do you?" "I certainly do!" affirmed the negro, with no small degree of pride. "Mr. Hawley's been a long time comin' to it, but at last he's let me. Yes, sir! I wind 'em, every one." "Indeed!" "Yes. You see, Mr.
The nickel flashlight and a correspondence with some unknown "brother," that was as far as his hopes carried. He had still a lingering and persistent feeling that this whole amazing business was unreal; that he had been dreaming it or at least reading a meaning where there was none. He knew that he could see trees and the stars in Hawley's pond when there were none there.
I sent in a large number of the drawings I had made for "Rutland Ramsay," and I received a warning that was more to the point than Hawley's. The artistic adviser of the house for which I was working was of opinion that many of my illustrations were not what had been looked for. Most of these illustrations were the subjects in which the Monarchs had figured.
Thus the Prince's right, far beyond his front, were lost in the tempest; while his left had discharged their muskets at Cobham's Horse, and could not load again, their powder being drenched with rain. They received the fire of Hawley's right, and charged with the claymore, but were outflanked and enfiladed by some battalions drawn up en potence.
Peering down into its still shadowed depths, they discerned what appeared like a body lying there motionless. Keith sprang down beside it, and turned the rigid form over until the dead face was revealed in the wan light it was that of the red moustached Scott. He staggered back at the recognition, barely able to ejaculate. "Here, Sheriff! This is one of Hawley's men!"
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