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Updated: June 11, 2025
Her eyes seemed to light up somewhere from far back in her head. "But enough of this mad passion," she said. "I want an invitation to have a drink a stiff one." "I'll steal Jeffers' bottle," Mike offered. "What's the trouble?" Her smile faded, and her eyes became grave. "I'm scared, Mike; I want to talk to you." "Come along, then," Mike said.
Jeffers would be down to-morrow night, for the week-end; Tiny on Tuesday with the precious Baby; Jerry, distinctly coming round, and eager to see Roy. Even Aunt Jane sounded a shade keen.
Doyle, at the head of another British regiment, intended for cooperation with Watson, was directed to proceed by way of M'Callum's Ferry, on Lynch's, and down Jeffers' Creek, to the Pedee. Here they were to form a junction. Marion had no force to meet these enemies in open combat.
When it was opened, he started to fall out straight toward the man who had opened the locker, naturally. Vaneski jumped back and shot before Mellon even hit the floor. Isn't that right?" "Sure, sure," Jeffers said slowly. "I reckon I'd've done the same thing if he'd started to fall out toward me. I wasn't even lookin' when the locker was opened.
Mike the Angel poured two healthy slugs of Pete Jeffers' brandy into a pair of glasses, added ice and water, and handed one to Leda Crannon with a flourish. And all the time, he kept up a steady line of gentle patter. "It may interest you to know," he said chattily, "that the learned Mister Treadmore has been furnishing me with the most fascinating information."
The job was completed within forty-five minutes. A man can't carry a great deal with him on a spaceship. When they were through, Mike the Angel excused himself and went to his quarters. Two hours after that he went to the officers' wardroom to look up Pete Jeffers. Pete hadn't been in his quarters, and Mike knew he wasn't on duty by that time.
The play was made, and I won, which greatly amused my friend, who was anxious for my success, as the fellow had given me the dare in a blustering sort of way. Jeffers made no kick, but, picking up the cards, put a spot on one of them, which he showed my friend, threw the cards on the table, and said, "Throw again." My friend gave me a hunch, as he did not wish to see me worsted.
They all had had their headaches the day before, and were having that banged feeling you always have after a headache; so they all sat at the same side of the room on the long sofa. All the Jefferses came, though they had sent uncertain answers. Old Mr. Jeffers had to be helped in, with his cane, by Mr. Peterkin. The Gibbons boys came, and would stand just outside the parlor door.
Meantime, there were letters: one from his father, one from Jeffers; and beneath them a too familiar envelope. At sight of it, he felt a faint tug inside him; as it were a whispered reminder that, away at Kapurthala, he had been about as free as a bird with a string round its leg. He resented the aptness of that degrading simile. It was a new sensation; and he did not relish it.
At last the old man pulled out $100, and I tried to make him put up more, but he stuck to the $100, when I said, "I will have to raise you $900" as I had noticed that he had $1,000 in the roll. He wanted to take down his money, but I couldn't see it, so Jeffers told him if he didn't put up the $900 that he would lose what he had put up, so at last he laid it up, turned the card, and lost.
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