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Updated: May 9, 2025
Instead, he emphasized rather his belief that Loper had elected to face no more dangers, and had voluntarily remained behind at Hite. First Seven Days Passed in Safety.
Loper's boat met with disasters here dashing on a rock and tearing a long rent in its side and giving warning of the inferiority of these thin metal boats to the stout oak craft used by the Powell party. The party managed to reach Hite, however, towing the damaged boat, and there made the necessary repairs. Loper Stays at Hite.
"Live poultry!" thought the black sheep, and visions of police cells and penal servitude floated before his depraved mental vision. "Yes, Mrs Loper, it moves. It is alive though not very much alive, I fear. My dear, I've found found a baby picked it up in the street. Not a soul there but me. Would have perished or been trodden on if I had not taken it up. See here!"
The parade was just forming to proceed down town. Joe found that Harry Loper had done his work well, at least as far as the platforms were concerned. They were firmly fastened. The one to which Joe leaped after his swing needed to be considerably stronger than the one from which he "took off."
At the Twitter social board which, by the way, was spread in another house not far from that which had been burned sat not only Mr and Mrs Twitter and all the little Twitters, but also Mrs Loper, who had dropped in just to make inquiries, and Mrs Larrabel, who was anxious to hear what news they had to tell, and Mr Crackaby, who was very sympathetic, and Mr Stickler, who was oracular.
He smiled, and then a rather serious look settled over his face. Like a flash there had come to him the memory of the too loquacious Harry Loper, who had fitted up his aerial apparatus. "There can be nothing wrong with that," mused Joe. "I went over every inch of it. I guess Helen is just nervous. Well, there goes my cue!"
Sapp can collect it off of him some way. And Bert Mowrer was there: he's a sassy boy. His folks don't make him mind at home at all, and 'most every teacher has trouble with him. Mr. Redding, the teacher we had last winter, licked him with a beech gad, and he behaved hisself after that. And there's Maggie Loper; her mother needs her at home real bad, but she'll get to come all summer.
Loper had acted as photographer of the expedition, and had the camera and the plates in his boat, when it was filled with water. Examination showed that the plates were ruined, and the camera shutter badly rusted. It was decided that Loper should remain behind at Hite, and await the arrival of a new shutter for which he had written.
Loper looked as though he would like to accompany us as we pulled away the next morning, after having landed him on the south side of the stream. We, at least, had full confidence in his nerve to tackle the lower Colorado, after his record in Cataract Canyon.
As the night advanced, however, the alarm became deeper, and it was even suggested by Mrs Loper that Crackaby should proceed to Twitter's office a distance of three miles to inquire whether and when he had left; while the smiling Mrs Larrabel proposed to send information to the headquarters of the police in Scotland Yard, because the police knew everything, and could find out anything.
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