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Updated: May 22, 2025
"Y-yes," confessed Gatewood, "it's all right for me once in a while, because I know that I am presently going back to my own home a jolly lamplit room and the prettiest girl in Manhattan curled up in an armchair " "You're fortunate," said Kerns shortly. And for the first time there remained no lurking mockery in his voice; for the first time his retort was tinged with bitterness.
For ten full minutes Gatewood sat gleefully cuddling the receiver against his ear. His faith in Mr. Keen was naturally boundless; he believed that whatever the Tracer attempted could not result in failure. He desired nothing in the world so ardently as to see Kerns safely married.
The Irish militia was of two kinds: one called kerns, which were foot, slightly armed with a long knife or dagger, and almost naked; the other, galloglasses, who were horse, poorly mounted, and generally armed only with a battle-axe. Neither horse nor foot made much use of the spear, the sword, or the bow. With indifferent arms, they had still worse discipline.
I have seen thee face half a score of shag-headed Irish kerns to thy own share of them; and now thou wouldst blink and go back to shun the frown of a fair lady!" At this moment the gates opened, and ushers began to issue forth in array, preceded and flanked by the band of Gentlemen Pensioners.
I don't care whether Kerns is comparatively happy or not there's nothing either sacred or holy in that kind of happiness, and I'm not going to endure the sort of life he likes any longer!"
"'Twouldn't do any good if the kerns were ripe," said Bobaday, turning his pepper-and-salt trousers up until the linings showed. "This farm ain't ours now, and we couldn't pull them." Aunt Corinne paused at the fennel bed: then she impulsively stretched forth her hand and gathered it full. "I set out these things," said aunt Corinne, "and I ain't countin' them sold till the wagon starts."
"I'll bet you," answered Kerns, deliberately, "an entire silver dinner service against a saddle horse for the bride." "That's a fool bet!" snapped Gatewood. "What do you mean?" "Oh, if you don't care to " "What do I want of a silver service? But, all right; I'll bet you anything." "She'll want it," replied Kerns significantly, booking the bet.
But he continued to push the button, nevertheless. Gatewood leaned back in his chair and gazed about him, nose in the air. "What a life!" he observed virtuously. "It's all I can do to stand it for ten minutes. You're here for the evening, I suppose?" he added pityingly. "No," said Kerns; "I'm going uptown to Billy Lee's house to get my suit case.
Kerns, would never of his own volition go near that same Marjorie Manners who had flirted with him to the very perilous verge before she told him why she was going to England and who, now a widow, had returned with her five-year-old daughter to dwell once more in the city of her ancestors. Kerns had said very simply: "She has spoiled women for me all except you, Mrs. Gatewood.
From time to time they held some rare vintage aloft, squinting through the crystal-imprisoned crimson with deep content. "Not that my word is necessarily the last word concerning Burgundy," said Gatewood modestly; "but I venture to doubt that any club in America can match this bottle, Kerns." "Now, Jack," wheedled Kerns, "isn't it pleasant to dine here once in a while? Be frank, man!
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