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Updated: June 22, 2025
Again Hemingway nodded. The conjunction of the two names surprised him, but he made no sign. Loquacious as he knew Harris to be, he never before had heard his friend even suggest the subject that to Zanzibar had become of acute interest. Harris filled the two glasses, and began to pace the room. When he spoke it was in the aggrieved tone of one who feels himself placed in a false position.
Of the fact that a college was named after his grandfather and that on his father's railroad he could travel through many States, he was discreetly silent. The men of Zanzibar asked no questions. That Hemingway could play a stiff game of tennis, a stiffer game of poker, and, on the piano, songs from home was to them sufficient recommendation.
"I am afraid in my case it is final," he said, in a low voice. And after a pause, in a louder tone: "Yes please understand it is final." "Oh, Peter dear, I'm sorry! But " "You're talking nonsense. Why, you're barely twenty-one!" protested Hemingway. "Much water must flow under the bridge, Peter, before you can say of anything: it is final. You've got a long life ahead of you to "
" began that unfortunate young man, boisterously attempting to sway her judgment. "Hush!" exclaimed Sattie Felton. "She's thinking," said Miss Hemingway severely. Mr. Bassity noisily subsided. "I don't know whether it's worth while to forgive him," said Grace at last. "He's so incorrigible so wild and woolly that if you're nice to him he's like one of those dogs that want to jump all over you!"
But when I left it there were many more than I deserved who not only had a good word for me; they went further, and demanded that good reason for my going must be shown, or somebody would be made to suffer. Foremost among these were Cam Gentry, Dr. Hemingway, and Cris Mead, president of the Springvale Bank, the father of Bill and Dave.
Assured of this, the detective also bowed politely, and, out of hearing, but with his prisoner in full view, took up a position against the rail opposite. Turning his back upon the detective, and facing Hemingway with his eyes close to his, Fearing began abruptly. His voice was sunk to a whisper, but he spoke without the slightest sign of trepidation, without the hesitation of an instant.
He bowed ironically, and the men all laughed. Balta grinned too. "Still the same mind, Hemingway? All right, men, take him up to the observation post. Here, Murray, have a drink." Sime was led up a seemingly endless circular staircase. After an interminable climb he saw the purplish Martian sky through the glass doors of an airlock.
Hemingway beside him was eager for his story. "Tell us the whole thing," he urged. "Then we can understand our part in it. Surely the arm of the Lord was not shortened for us last night." "It is a strange story, Dr. Hemingway, with a strange and tragic ending," replied the priest. He related then the plot which O'mie had heard set forth by the strangers in our town.
As soon as we hear the name, Tom and I can jump on him from behind, and you can sail in in front. Eh, Reade?" "It sounds good," nodded Tom. "I'll take a chance on it, Dick, with you to engineer the job." In ten minutes Officer Hemingway was back. He stepped into a cupboard close to the counter, prepared for the coming of Tripps.
"I didn't know," he protested. "I thought I was in time. I ought to have told you days ago, but " "Tell me now," commanded Hemingway. "I know it in a thousand ways," began Harris. Hemingway raised his eyes hopefully. But the consul shook his head. "But to convince you," he went on, "I need tell you only one.
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