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Corkey is superintending the search for the yawl and Lockwin's body. Superintending the search is but a phrase. Corkey is exhibiting his mascot, pounding on the hotel bar and accepting the congratulations of all who will take a drink. The four correspondents fall back on the Special Survivor and hope for sympathy. "We have been discharged by our papers," they cry in bitter anger and deep chagrin.
See how solid I've got 'em." Lockwin's brow clouds as the boss tells of this new development. "Those sailors will fight," he says. "But Corkey reckons on the gamblers," explains the boss, "and we can fix the gamblers." "What will you do?" "Do? I'll do as I did in 1868, when I was running the Third. The eight-hour men had the ward." "What did you do?"
David Lockwin rents head-quarters in the district, and shakes hands with all the touching committees. Twelve members of the Sons of Labor can carry their union over to him. It will require $100, as the union is mostly democratic. They are told they must see Mr. Lockwin's central committee. But Mr.
It increases the public excitement attending the death of the people's idol. There is a ferment of the whole body politic. Of all the popular pastors who turn the catastrophe to their account the famous preacher at Esther Lockwin's church makes the most of it. To a vast gathering of the devout and the curious he dwells upon the uncertainties of life.
It is he who, in the midnight of Esther Lockwin's grief, prepared for her confidential reading those long and scholarly essays of consolation which she studied so gratefully. Mr. Harpwood did not put his lucubrations in the care of Dr. Tarpion. Each and every one was written for no other eye but Esther's. While Dr. Tarpion was holding the husband at bay, Dr.
It is thus settled that Corkey shall go to Congress from Lockwin's district. Because this is a sailor's matter it is difficult to handle it from the adversary's side. The political boss first hears of it through the information of a rival marine reporter on a democratic sheet. This is on Wednesday. The primaries are to be held on Friday. The boss has never dealt with a similar mishap.
It is a man, too, well known to the gamblers, and they all vote in Lockwin's district. Parlor entertainers make a famous sneeze by delegating to each of a group some vowel in the word "h sh!" It shall be "hash" for this one, "hish" for that one, "hush" for still another, and so on. Then the professor counts three, at which all yell together, and the consolidated sound is a sneeze.
"Why should Davy be so fond of that?" thinks the whistler. But this week of campaign cannot stretch out forever. It must end, just as Lockwin feels that another speech had killed him. It must end with Lockwin's nerves agog, so that when a book falls over on the shelves he starts like a deer at a shot. It is Monday night, and there will be no speeches by the candidates.
"Go to Congress," she says. "Outlive your enemies. I think, David, that men are not the equals of women in defending themselves against the shafts of enmity. Outlive your enemies, David." That Lockwin has the nature she required was to be seen in the death of Davy. An event which would have beclouded the life of common brides came to Esther as an important communication. She saw Lockwin's heart.
"That's what it will!" answered Corkey. "Going there? I'm going up myself. I reckon it will be a big thing. Takes a big thing to git me out of bed this time of day. I'm a great friend of Mrs. Lockwin's!" "You are?" "That's what I am. I was on the old tub when she go down. May be you've heard of me. My name is Corkey." "Clad to meet you. My name is Chalmers. I have read the account."
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