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Updated: June 22, 2025
"Call next day, and out, too! Call next week and still out!" "When you make a closer study of the social system," began Miss Hemingway "our social system, which seems in vogue everywhere except the place you came from you will discover that such little subterfuges save painful interviews." "Oh, now, girls, don't be hard on me," said Mr.
Anderson's influence upon later American writers, especially those who wrote short stories, has been enormous. Ernest Hemingway and William Faulkner both praised him as a writer who brought a new tremor of feeling, a new sense of introspectiveness to the American short story.
Murray, with a gallantry that sat ill on the scarecrow figure he was, cleared matters up a trifle. "Princess Sira? As I thought. Princess, or Your Highness, to be formal, I am your humble and disreputable servant, Lige Murray, of the Interplanetary Flying Police. Likewise this gentleman behind the brush Sime Hemingway. You know Tuman? You've missed something, Your Highness! And Tolto! Lucky man!"
Yet there are no tracks such as your father would have left had he taken to the water close to where he left his discarded garments," argued Hemingway, swinging his lantern about. "We've pretty well trodden down whatever footprints might have been here," disputed Bert Dodge. "I shan't feel satisfied until daylight comes and we've had a good chance to have the river dragged."
In the silence the detective moved into the light. He was tall and strongly built, his face was shrewd and intelligent. He might have been a prosperous man of business. "Which of you is the consul?" he asked. But he did not take his eyes from Hemingway. "I am the consul," said Harris. But still the detective did not turn from Hemingway.
"Und dot train going by a mile a minute, I bet you!" gasped the German ruefully. "Come along, lad," urged Hemingway gently. "On Saturdays court opens at one o'clock. We'll get right up there and see this matter through." "I bet you've see dis matter through -right through someone, ain't it?" exploded Herr Schimmelpodt, ranging himself on the other side of the young prisoner.
The girl backed away from him as though he had struck her. "You must not say that," she commanded. For the first time he saw that she was moved, that the fingers she laced and unlaced were trembling. "It is final!" exclaimed the girl. "I cannot marry you, or any one. I I have promised. I am not free." "Nothing in the world is final," returned Hemingway sharply, "except death."
"Maybe I can find the answer in your clothes," retorted the plain clothes man. "Stand still." The search resulted in the finding of about ten dollars, a knife, and three queer-looking implements that Hemingway instantly declared to be pick-locks. "You used these tools, and slipped the lock, did you?" asked Hemingway. "Didn't have to," grinned Tip.
Hemingway did not interfere, but, leaving his brother policeman at the river's edge, accompanied young Dodge. In a few minutes they arrived at the spot in the lane where Dick had tied the horse. Here they found Dave Darrin seated in the buggy. Dave glanced unconcernedly at them all, nodding to Hemingway way, who returned the salutation. "Now, I'll watch you start away from here," snapped Bert.
It was a service for my first wife sung by her that was to be my second, you might almost say. Dr. Hemingway talked beautiful, too, just beautiful. But I've got to go. Business don't bother you lawyers," he was growing very familiar now, "but us merchants has to keep a sharp eye to time. When shall I call?" He rose briskly. "When shall I call?" he repeated. My father rose up to his full height.
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