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And it was not until the following evening, when Jerry at last managed to find a chance to have a long talk with me, that I learned the truth. It was a hot night in June. We had climbed to the roof of the new building for a breath of air, forsaking Jerry's small bedroom in the temporary quarters of the club where we had both been perspiring profusely.
And Michael's loquacity never went farther. Only on these two occasions, when his master-god seemed to be in peril, was he known to bark. He never barked at the moon, nor at hillside echoes, nor at any prowling thing. A particular echo, to be heard directly from the ranch-house, was an unfailing source of exercise for Jerry's lungs.
Jerry's so awful jealous the old fool." Laura had to smile in spite of herself. "Do you see much of Jerry nowadays?" "Not any more than I can help and be nice," chuckled Elfie. "He gets on my nerves. Of course, I have heard about your quitting Brockton." "Then why do you ask?" demanded Laura. "Just wanted to hear from your own dear lips what the trouble was. Now, tell me all about it.
But no one witnessed Old Jerry's wild descent to the village that night; no one knew the mad speed he made, save the old mare between the shafts; and she was kept too busy with the lash that whistled over her fat flanks to have given the matter any consistent thought.
He could lead Dan and his men to Hurricane Gap by daylight. Chad Buford could fight it out with Daws and his gang, and he and Dan would fight it out with the men who won no matter whether Yankees or guerillas. And a grim smile stayed on Rebel Jerry's face as he climbed. On the porch of the Turner cabin sat Melissa with her hands clinched and old Jack's head in her lap.
Nor could the other listeners fail to be amused. "I can imagine how that poor soph felt to be jumped on so unexpectedly, when she was playing the agreeable hostess at her own birthday party." Jerry's sympathy for the injured sophomore did not prevent her from laughing. The funny side of such tragedies invariably struck Jerry first. "How did the pow-wow end?"
August was painting with her vivid coloring the mountain slopes and valleys; over everything was a soft glow. It was reflected on Jerry's eager face. John Westley pointed down into the valley where Jerry's "shining" road ran off out of sight. They could see an automobile, like a speck, moving swiftly along it.
She had oilcloth on her kitchen to save the floor, and oilcloth mats to save the oilcloth; yet Jerry's boots had to be taken off in the shed, and he was required to walk through in his stocking feet.
But as luck would have it they had not gone more than two hundred yards when a bullet whizzed within two feet of Jerry's head, followed by a shower of missiles that were directed entirely too close to them for comfort. Instantly they dropped flat on the ground. In the distance ahead of them they could see three shadows stealthily crawling along toward them. "Pick your men!"
He sang an ancient song of Killisnook and brandished his whip like a baton. Inside the cab the fare sat up straight on the cushions, looking to right and left at the lights and houses. Even in the shadowed hansom her eyes shone like stars at twilight. When they reached Fifty-ninth street Jerry's head was bobbing and his reins were slack.
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