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Updated: April 30, 2025
And now he was fortified behind his own gold. He was being harassed and hounded for the moment but the emotional wave of reform that was calling for his downfall would break and pass, and leave him as secure as ever. "Now, my belief is," Keenan told the listening woman, "that if you find you cannot possibly be the Napoleon of the campaign, it is well worth while to be the Ney.
"I do but are we to let Keenan go, when we have him so close to us?" "Then go ahead and both capture and captivate him!" said Durkin, with a voice that was gruff only because it was indifferent. Still again he was oppressed by the feeling that she was passing beyond his power. "But see, Jim I'm getting so old and ugly!"
Keenan took a step into the room and addressed the black emptiness before him. "Will the gentleman speak up and explain?" No answer came out of the darkness. Frank knew, by this time, that Keenan would make no move to desert her. "Have you a lamp, or a light of any kind, Miss Allen?" was the next curt, businesslike question.
"Whatever you do," Durkin warned her, "don't let Keenan suspect who I am! Don't let him get a glimpse of you with me. My part now has got to be what you'd call 'armed neutrality. If anything unforeseen turns up and that can only be at Palermo or Gibraltar I'll be watching near by to come to your help in some way but, whatever you do, don't let Keenan suspect this!"
Frank Keenan, with whose praiseworthy effort to emulate the tactics of M. Antoine in Paris my readers are familiar, gave up the Berkeley Lyceum ghost, unable to weather the storm and stress of experiment. While admiring Mr.
She planned to work today and go aboard the Tillicum after office hours." "Good! Then she's all ready lor a voyage to Tahiti. Have the private exchange operator phone our wharf office instantly and tell them to load Miss Keenan's trunk on the first wagon handy and rush it over to the Moana. Give Miss Keenan fifteen hundred dollars and tell her she's to go to Papeete.
I've been looking out for you!" said the intruder, with a taunt of mockery in his easy laugh. It was MacNutt. She gaped at him stupidly, with an inarticulate throaty gasp, half of protest, half of bewilderment. "You see, I know you, Frank, and Keenan doesn't!" And again she felt the sting of his scoffing laughter.
As an example of McRae's methods and as depicting a phase of the life of the migratory worker the story of "Sergeant" John J. Keenan, sixty-five years old, and still actively at work, is of particular interest: "I left Great Falls, Mont., about the 5th of September after I had been working on a machine in the harvest about nine miles from town.
Miss Keenan had already gone aboard the Moana, the huge funnel of which, as Cappy noted with a thrill, was still sticking up over the roof of the dock. He crooked his finger and Michael J. Murphy leaped up on the running board of his car. "Mike," said Cappy solemnly, "listen to me!
"An' didn't I tell you-uns," he went on, affecting to warm to the discussion, and in reality oblivious of the presence of the guest' "didn't I tell ye ez how ef ye war a nephew 'stiddier a niece ye wouldn't hev sech cattle ez Em'ry Keenan a-dan-glin' round underfoot, like a puppy ye can't gin away, an' that won't git lost, an' ye ain't got the heart ter kill?"
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