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Updated: June 29, 2025
Come ahead, Billie!" "No," said Hawker, without looking at his friend, "I can't this morning, Hollie. I've got to go to work. Good-bye!" He comprehended them both in a swift bow and stalked away. Hollanden turned quickly to the girl. "What was the matter with Billie? What was he grinding his teeth for? What was the matter with him?" "Why, nothing was there?" she asked in surprise.
"Yes, yes, I know," replied the other peacefully; "a colossal ass. Of course." After looking into the distance again, he murmured: "I'm worried about that picnic. I wish I knew she was going. By heavens, as a matter of fact, she must be made to go!" "What have you got to do with it?" cried the painter, in another sudden outburst. "There! there!" said Hollanden, waving his hand. "You fool!
"Why, he was grinding his teeth until he sounded like a stone crusher," said Hollanden in a severe tone. "What was the matter with him?" "How should I know?" she retorted. "You've been saying something to him." "I! I didn't say a thing." "Yes, you did." "Hollie, don't be absurd."
Hollanden conveyed his friend some distance on the way home from the inn to the farm. "Good time at the picnic?" said the writer. "Yes." "Picnics are mainly places where the jam gets on the dead leaves, and from thence to your trousers. But this was a good little picnic." He glanced at Hawker. "But you don't look as if you had such a swell time." Hawker waved his hand tragically.
Only a spectator, I assure you." Hawker seemed overcome then with a deep dislike of himself. "Oh, well, you know, Hollie, this sort of thing " He broke off and gazed at the trees. "This sort of thing It " "How?" asked Hollanden. "Confound you for a meddling, gabbling idiot!" cried Hawker suddenly.
That's the point." "Well, she was a girl." "Yes, go on." "A New York girl." "Yes." "A perfectly stunning New York girl." "Yes. Go ahead." "A perfectly stunning New York girl of a very wealthy and rather old-fashioned family." "Well, I'll be shot! You don't mean it! She is practically seated on top of the Matterhorn. Poor old Billie!" "Not at all," said Hollanden composedly.
Who did you think I meant?" "How did I know?" said Hawker angrily. "Well," retorted Hollanden, "your chief interest was in his movements, I thought." "Why, of course not, hang you! Why should I be interested in his movements?" "Well, you weren't, then. Does that suit you?" After a period of silence Hawker asked, "What did he what made him go?" "Who?" "Why Oglethorpe."
The uninformed and disreputable Stanley arose and wagged his tail. As if the girl had cried out at a calamity, Hawker said again, "Well, you might have expected it." At the lake, Hollanden went pickerel fishing, lost his hook in a gaunt, gray stump, and earned much distinction by his skill in discovering words to express his emotion without resorting to the list ordinarily used in such cases.
"What if I am?" said Hawker, with a gesture of defiance and despair. Hollanden saw a dramatic situation in the distance, and with a bright smile he studied it. "Say," he exclaimed, "suppose she should not go to the picnic to-morrow? She said this morning she did not know if she could go. Somebody was expected from New York, I think. Wouldn't it break you up, though! Eh?"
In the mystic spaces of the night the pines could be heard in their weird monotone, as they softly smote branch and branch, as if moving in some solemn and sorrowful dance. "This has been quite the most delightful summer of my experience," said the painter. "I have found it very pleasant," said the girl. From time to time Hawker glanced furtively at Oglethorpe, Hollanden, and the Worcester girl.
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