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Updated: June 8, 2025
Where you headin' for, K.C.? "Yes. My name is Mister Jamison James Jamison." "This is a warm climate," sez I. "Yes," he sez sort o' surprised, "it is." "It has an awful meltin' effect on names," I continued. He chuckled again. "I'm mighty glad you arrived, Happy," sez he. "What do you suppose'll happen to my name?"
Presently a written note came from Holden: "Jed: send West and Jamison right away to Dabney's lunar laboratory to get details of discovery from man named Jones. Get moon-jeep and driver from hotel. I will want you in an hour. Bill." "I'll be back," said Cochrane. "Wait." He left the table and found West and Jamison in Bell's room, all three in conference over a bottle.
The atmosphere was much more like that in a small apartment back home than on a space-ship among the stars. This was not in any way such a journey of exploration as the writers of fiction had imagined. Jamison came down presently and offered to prepare some special dish in which he claimed to excel. There was no mention of Johnny Simms.
He shot at imagined targets there. He fired at his previous victim simply because it was something to shoot at. He shot recklessly, foolishly. Alicia, his wife, touched Jamison on the arm and spoke to him urgently. Jamison followed her reluctantly down the stairs. She would be going to the airlock. Johnny Simms, shooting at the landscape, might shoot Holden.
Then Cochrane refused to see any reporters at all, everybody connected with the enterprise shut up tighter than a clam, and Jamison vanished into a hotel room where he was kept occupied with beverages and food at Dabney's father-in-law's expense. None of this was standard for a phoney promotion deal. The news story exploded.
She went up to her dressing room and lit the candles herself. She smoothed her ruffled hair, added a ribbon and a jewel or two, and then went back to the drawing-room. All unnoticed, in the shadows, the letter for her lay on the table. She sat down and rang the bell. Jamison, the confidential servant, appeared. "Has Sir Victor returned from his walk, Jamison? Is he in the dining-room?" Mr.
Most certainly you will not. You will remain here all night. Oh, Edith, you must indeed. A room has been prepared for you, adjoining mine. Inez and Jamison will remain with Victor until morning, and you ought to see him before you go." She shrank in a sort of horror. "No, no, no! that I cannot! As it is so late I will remain, but see him no, no! Not even for your sake, Lady Helena, can I do that."
She led her to a door down the corridor and rapped. How horribly thick and fast Edith's heart beat; she hated herself for it. The door opened, and the grave, professional face of Mr. Jamison looked out. "Tell Sir Victor, Lady Catheron is here, and will see him." The man bowed and departed. Another instant and he was again before them: "Sir Victor begs my lady to enter at once."
Joaquin Miller, the poet, miner, and soldier, who but recently was a picturesque figure on the hotel porch at Saratoga Springs, was one of the young Californians who was "out with Walker," and who later in his career by his verse helped to preserve the name of his beloved commander. I. C. Jamison, living to-day in Guthrie, Oklahoma, was a captain under Walker.
Jamison had clung to their old-fashioned ways, and had done their cooking over the open fire, using the swinging crane which is now employed chiefly in pictures. This, for the sake of the picture it made, we proposed to keep as it had been left, although at times it might answer some more prosaic purpose.
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