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Beasely is helping 'Rill make her wedding gown. Little Lottie is going to have a new mamma." "And and Hopewell's been playing that old song to her all these years!" murmured Janice "They are just as happy " "Aren't they!" agreed Nelson, with a thrill in his voice. "I hope that when we're as old as they are, we'll be as happy, too. Do you suppose "
There seemed, to her ear, a sadder strain than ever in Hopewell's playing of the old ballad. For a time this favorite had been discarded for lighter and brighter melodies, for the little family here on the by-street had been wonderfully happy. They all three welcomed Janice Day joyfully now.
"I thought you was one o' these new-fashioned gals when I first seen ye all for excitement, and fashions, and things like that. I've been wonderfully mistaken in you, Janice Day." Oddly enough the old lady made small objection to her daughter's going to Boston with the child. "Anyhow," she grumbled to Janice, "she won't be runnin' into Hopewell's all the time if she ain't here."
I wonder what on airth Pugwash was a thinkin on, when he signed articles of partnership with that are woman; she's not a bad lookin piece of furniture neither, and its a proper pity sich a clever woman should carry such a stiff upper lip she reminds me of our old minister Joshua Hopewell's apple trees.
This act broke the man's hold upon Drugg's violin and he crashed to the floor, striking the back of his head soundly. "All right, Mr. Drugg," panted Frank. "Get out." But it was Janice, still confronting Bodley, that actually freed the storekeeper from his enemies. Her eyes blazed with indignation into the bartender's own. His fat, white hand dropped from Hopewell's arm.
"And I am sorry anybody saw Mr. Drugg that evening on his way home." "Oh, I know you saw him, Janice and Marty Day and my mother. Mother can be as mean as mean can be! She has never liked Hopewell, as you know." "Yes, I know," admitted Janice. "She keeps throwing such things up to me. And her tongue is never still. It is true Hopewell's father was a drinking man."
If I can make a lettle spec on the side, who's business is it but my own?" When Janice heard the report of this through Walky Dexter, of course she was reminded of the black-haired, foreign looking man, who had been so much interested in Hopewell's violin the night she and Frank Bowman had taken the storekeeper home from the dance. "I wonder if he can be the customer that Joe Bodley speaks of?
You see," Frank went on modestly, "I was something of a boxer at the Tech school, and I've had to keep my wits about me with those 'muckers' of the railroad construction gang." "Oh, dear, me! I think there must be something very tigerish in all of us," sighed Janice. "I was glad when I saw that black-haired man go down. What did he want Hopewell's violin for?" "Don't know. Just meanness, perhaps.
I can smell it on his breath. Pshaw! Hopewell's a harmless critter. Why couldn't they let him alone?" Frank had taken up the violin. The moisture had got to it a little on the back and the young man thoughtlessly held it near the fire to dry. Hopewell's eyes opened and almost immediately he staggered to his feet, reaching for the instrument. "Wrong! wrong!" he muttered. "Never do that.
There's a bunch of fellers from Middletown way comin' over to-night with their girls to hold a dance. I heard about it. Hopewell's goin' to play the fiddle for them to dance by. Tell you, the Inn's gettin' to be a gay place." "It's disgustin whatever it is!" cried Mrs. Scattergood, rather taken aback by Marty's information, yet still clinging to her own opinion. It was not Mrs.
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