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Updated: June 1, 2025
He had, however, not sufficiently counted on Sally's knowledge of his victim's affairs, or her quickness of wit, for she turned to Hawtrey with a commanding gesture. "Where are you going to get 3,000 dollars from?" she asked. The blood crept into Hawtrey's face, for this was a thing he could not tell her; but a swift suspicion flashed into her mind as she looked at him.
A limp figure in an old skin coat lay almost at her feet, and she dropped on her knees beside it in the snow. Hawtrey's face showed an unpleasant greyish-white in the faint silvery light. "Gregory!" she cried hoarsely. The man opened his eyes, and blinked at her in a half-dazed manner. "Fell down," he said. "Think I felt my leg go and my side's stabbing me. Go for somebody."
Sally glanced up at him with a little nod. "You take hold with a good grip. Everybody allows that," she said. "The trouble is you let things go afterwards. You don't stay with it." "Yes," assented Hawtrey. "I believe you have hit it, Sally. That's very much what's the matter with me." "Then," said the girl with quiet insistence, "won't you try?" A faint flush crept into Hawtrey's face.
The one in question had, however, been made for use in Montreal, and bought back East by a friend of Hawtrey's, who was, as it happened, possessed of some means, which is a somewhat unusual thing in the case of a Western wheat-grower.
Have you noticed that the word Hobart has kept black, and all the rest has faded to the colour of the writing inside?" So it had, without a doubt, inexplicably. Mr. Hawtrey's impression was that the word was written in a different hand, perhaps filled in by someone who had been able to supply the name correctly, having been entrusted the letter to forward.
Hawtrey's eyes twinkled as he shook his head. "I'm afraid they won't," he replied. "You see, I've put the screw on them rather hard the last few years." "How did you do that?" Sally inquired. "Told them you were thinking of coming home again?"
Popular fancy takes kindly to rough but honest westerners who have begun life in flannel shirts, who have struck gold and come to New York with a fortune but despising effeteness; such a one, tanned by the mountain sun, embarrassed in raiment supplied by a Fifth Avenue tailor, takes a table one evening at Hawtrey's and of course falls desperately in love.
She looked for some coffee in the cupboard, and put on a kettle, after which she sat down on the floor by Hawtrey's side. He lay still, with the thick driving-robe beneath him, and though the color was creeping back into his face, his eyes were shut, and he was apparently quite unconscious of her presence.
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