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Updated: June 19, 2025
He ruminates. "The David Lockwin Annex that means a wing, doesn't it? Yes, I thought so. Well, the wing is bigger than the than the than the the wing is bigger than the bird." It is an observation that Corkey believes would be applauded among the sharp blades of the telegraph room. He drinks in a well-pleased mood. "The David Lockwin Annex! The monument! They've given that a stiff name, too.
I do love him." The man has been eloquent and self-forgetful. The woman has lost her command. Tears are coming in her eyes. Shame is mantling her cheeks. David Lockwin is startled. George Harpwood passes in the distance with Esther's mother on his arm. "Esther, you know me, with all my faults. I think we could be happy together we three you and I and the boy. Will you marry me?
As the goal is neared, this swift runner grows weary. The David Lockwin Annex never seemed so unpleasant before. It has taken longer to rearrange his linen and secure a faultless appearance than he would have believed. He hastens to don his overcoat. He smiles as he closes the door of his little bedroom at the hotel. He goes to take the vast Wandrell mansion. Why is his coachman so careless?
Troy, Mr. Lockwin. Mr. Troy keeps the hotel. Mr. Flood, Mr. Lockwin. Mr. Flood runs the bank and keeps the postoffice and general store." The group nears the hotel. Corkey is seized with a paroxysm of tobacco strangling, ending with a sneeze that is a public event. He is again black in the face, but he has been polite.
But if he were poor, he would work for the dear lady who loved him so secretly. He gloats over the letter of Esther. It is worn in pieces now, like so many cards. The train from New York enters the city of Chicago. "That is the new David Lockwin Hospital," says a passenger. "Why did I blunder in on this road?" the lover asks. He had not thought his situation so terrible as it seemed just now.
There is a cry in the streets, hoarse and loud a triumphant proclamation: "Extra! Full account o' de shipwreck o' de Africa! Full account o' de big shipwreck!" A white arm reaches from a front door. A dime is paid for two papers. The door must be held open for light to read. "Appalling calamity! Unparalleled feat of journalism!" Hideous it seems to Esther Lockwin. She clings to the newell-post.
A saloon-keeper rushes out with a bung-starter and hits a sailor on the head. An alderman bites off a sailor's ear. An athletic sailor fells the first six foes who advance upon him. A shot is fired. The long line at the polls dissolves as if by magic. The judges of election disappear out the back door. There is nothing for the unoccupied alderman to do but to place 400 Lockwin ballots in the box.
The lawn is perfect not a leaf of plantain, not a spear of dandelion. Money will not produce such stewardship of the sepulcher. It is Esther's own devotion. He goes to the site of the cenotaph. Is it not a difficulty for a lover? Yet love sustains him. His invention suggests method after method by which he may undo the past. He visits the foundations of the David Lockwin Annex.
"So he flourisheth," answers the soft alto. "For the wind passeth over it," sings the tenor. "And it is gone," proclaims the treble. "And the place thereof shall know it no more," breathes the full choir, preparing to shout that the mercy of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting upon them that fear Him. It is found that Lockwin had hosts of friends.
A memorial hospital! Did not Corkey speak of that? The David Lockwin Annex! This is awful! Lockwin has not read a word of it. Ay, but the apartments are still at Gramercy Square. Why did he come? What fate led him away? What devil has lured him back? Hold! Hold! There is Esther! Lift her veil! Give her air! Esther, the beautiful! The reporter for the Eau Claire paper groans with the people.
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