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The streets of East Burgen were rather crowded, and Jem Agar with elbows well in and the whip at the regulation angle across old Lasher's face, who could not help squinting at the pendant thong shouted to the country-folk in a new voice of mighty deep register. He carried his boyish head stiffly, and had for ever discarded a turn-down collar.
To-day there was no snow but a frost, and there was a long bar of saffron below the cold sky and a round red ball of a sun. Hugh was sitting in a corner of Mr. Lasher's study, looking at Doré's "Don Quixote," when the two gentlemen came in. He was sitting in a dark corner and they, because they were angry with one another, did not recognise any one except themselves. Mr.
Lasher's continued last words: "Well, good-bye, my boy. A good time, both at work and play" the train was off. "Ticket, please, sir!" said the long-legged young man at the little wooden gate. Seymour plunged down into the deep, high-hedged lane that even now, in winter, seemed to cover him with a fragrant odour of green leaves, of flowers, of wet soil, of sea spray.
"Step out and hold them," whispered Frank, in his ear; and the four boys made a sudden appearance from behind the shack. "Now, look pleasant, please, you fellows!" exclaimed Frank, as he made sure that he had his gun held on a line to cover the leader of the rebels in Andy Lasher's camp.
Lasher's satisfaction, of having a collar at the end of the week as clean as it had been at the beginning, of discovering the way to make a straight parting in the hair, of not wriggling in bed when Mrs. Lasher kissed him at night, of many, many other things. He was at this time a very lonely boy. Until Mr. Pidgen paid his visit he was most remarkably lonely.
The boys looked at one another in dismay, for it seemed as though some would-be joker had tossed a bucket of ice-cold water over them; this vague threat of Andy Lasher's was not to be lightly dismissed as mere bluff, for whatever his reputation might be, the fellow had a way of keeping his word, especially when it concerned any sort of mischief. Frank, however, laughed aloud.
But instead of the old order and discipline there was now a confusion that gave the room the air of a waste-paper basket. How orderly had been Mr. Lasher's table, with all the pens in rows, and little sharp drawers that clicked, marked A, B, and C, to put papers into. Mr. Trenchard entered.
He could not throw a cricket-ball, he could not see to catch one after it was thrown to him, did he try to kick a football he missed it, and when he had run for five minutes he saw purple skies and silver stars and has cramp in his legs. He had, however, during these years at Mr. Lasher's, this great over mastering ambition.
They sailed from New York at five o'clock P.M., an hour looked for, and longed for, by The Boy, as the very beginning of summer, with all its delightful young charms; and they arrived at their destination about five of the clock the next morning, by which time The Boy was wide awake, and on the lookout for Lasher's Stage, in which he was to travel the intervening three miles.
Major Otho Williams was so treated." "Adolph Myer, late of Colonel Lasher's battalion, says he was taken by the British at Montresor's Island. They threatened twice to hang him, and had a rope fixed to a tree. He was led to General Howe's quarters near Turtle Bay, who ordered him to be bound hand and foot.
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