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Updated: May 7, 2025
Old Mizzou disappeared in the direction of the corral, where he was joined presently by the man Arthur. On his way to keep the appointment of the afternoon, Bennington de Laney discovered within himself a new psychological experience. He found that, since the evening before, he had been observing things about him for the purpose of detailing them to his new friend.
"Miss Brown, that's the school teacher that comes over from Hill Town summers, she says Maude reads a sight better than lots as is two or three years older. Now how old would you think she was, Mr. de Laney?" Mr. de Laney tried to appraise, while the object hung her head self-consciously and twisted her feet. He had no idea of children's ages. "About eleven," he guessed, with an air of wisdom.
"Don't bother about that, de Laney," said he, in a most cavalier fashion. "I'll see to it." "I did not address you, sir!" returned Bennington coldly. The Westerner's eyes twinkled with amusement. The girl interrupted. "Thank you very much, Mr. de Laney, but Mr. Fay is right I wouldn't trouble you." Her eyes commanded Fay, and he moved a little apart.
Mary's College, the Clergy of the Church of England in the island; the leading professional men and merchants, etc., and especially a large number of the Roman Catholic gentry of the island; 'MM. Ambard, O'Connor, Giuseppi, Laney, Farfan, Gillineau, Rat, Pantin, Leotaud, Besson, Fraser, Paull, Hobson, Garcia, Dr. Padron, etc. I quote their names from the Gazette, in the order in which they occur.
"You'd better run right along over and get a good place." He glanced at de Laney, smiled again, and turned away, apparently to follow his own advice. "Come on, we'll follow him," cried Mary, jumping down. "And abandon our box?" objected Bennington. But she was already in full pursuit of the tall cowboy.
It sounds like a battle of the Revolution. Is it a battle of the Revolution? Just to think that all this time we have been entertaining unawares a real live battle!" De Laney grinned, half-embarrassed as usual. "It's a family name," said he. "It's the name of an ancestor." He never knew whether or not these vivacious youths really desired the varied information they demanded.
The novel never has anything to do with the aforesaid new and romantic surroundings; neither has it the faintest connection with anything the author has ever seen. That would limit his imagination. Once he was well settled in his new home, and the first excitement of novel impressions had worn off, Bennington de Laney began to write regularly three hours a day.
She had given him independence, for she had made him believe in himself, and belief in one's self is the first principle of independence. Bennington de Laney looked back on his old New York self as on a being infinitely remote. She awoke and opened her eyes slowly, and looked at him without blinking.
De Laney bowed to the young men in the window, who removed their pipes from their mouths and grinned amiably. "This, gentlemen," explained Jeems, without changing his position, "is Mr. Bennie de Laney on both sides. It is extremely fortunate for Mr. de Laney that he is a de Laney on both sides, for otherwise he would be lop-sided."
"Bennie, my boy," gasped Jeems, at last, "you'll be the death of me! O Lord! O Lord! You unfortunate infant! You shall come here and have a drum to pound; yes, you shall." He tottered weakly to his feet. "Come, Bertie, let us go get dressed." The two disappeared into the bedroom, leaving de Laney uncomfortably alone with the occupants of the window ledge.
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