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Updated: May 17, 2025
It might even be some clandestine love affair. So I took each of my companions by the arm, gripping Jeremy's particularly tightly, and started forward, whispering an explanation after we had turned the corner of the building. "Let one of us go and warn the guard," I suggested. "If we should draw that cover and start a shindy, we're more likely to get shot by the guard than thanked."
"Eh, brothers," said Jeremy, looking round, "what a change in the estate of our poor friend! He has now become one of the first, because on earth he was one of the last. He is a king." The listeners were all silent, and the narrator enjoyed a triumph. Jeremy's cracked old voice went on, and now again somewhat irrelevantly.
The atmosphere being clear, the gradually widening prospect was beautiful, and Gertrude's delight was such that the restraint imposed by stage-coach decorum was almost insupportable. When, therefore, the ascent became so laborious that the gentlemen alighted to relieve the weary horses, Gertrude gladly accepted Dr. Jeremy's proposal that she should accompany him on a walk of a mile or two.
When all were told, there was but a battalion of one of the King's horse regiments, and two companies of foot soldiers; and their commanders had orders, later than the date of Jeremy's commission, on no account to quit the southern coast, and march inland.
Do you know who I think is at the head of that crew, over in the creek?" "Who?" whispered Bob. Jeremy's face was pale as he leaned close. "Pharaoh Daggs!" He said the name beneath his breath, almost as if he feared that the man with the broken nose might hear him. And now for the first time he told Bob of the schooner that had slipped past in the dark that night in the East River.
"On going over Clara's notes," she said, "I came to the conclusion, last Tuesday, that the matter of the missing handbag and the letters was important. More important, probably, than the mere record shows. Do you recall the note of distress in Miss Jeremy's voice? It was almost a wail." I had noticed it. "I have plenty of time to think," she added, not without pathos.
He would slide down to the floor, his whole body collapsing; his head would rest upon Jeremy's foot; he would dream of cats, of rats, of birds, of the Jampot, of beef and gravy, of sugar, of being washed, of the dogs' Valhalla, of fire and warmth, of Jeremy, of walks when every piece of flying paper was a challenge, of dogs, dogs that he had known of when he was a puppy, of doing things he shouldn't, of punishment and wisdom, pride and anger, of love-affairs of his youth, of battle, of settling-down, of love-affairs in the future, again of cats and beef, and smells smells smells, again of Jeremy, whom he loved.
These were, of course, Jeremy's views, and it can't definitely be asserted that all grown-up people shared them. But whenever Jeremy had ridden in that bus he had always been on his way to something delightful.
Sir Jeremy's wrinkled hand appeared from behind the rugs, and the two men shook in silence. Then Garrett came forward. "You're not much changed, Harry," he said with a laugh, "in spite of the twenty years." "Why, Garrie!" His brother stepped towards him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "It's splendid to see you again.
"One more thing of this kind aboard, and I'll maroon you," said the Captain sharply, and added, "Gray, put this man in irons and see that he gets only bread and water for five days!" Then he turned on his heel and went back to the cabin. So once more Jeremy's life was saved by the Captain's whim.
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