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Updated: June 1, 2025
"A play actor or a poetry writer!" he exclaimed. "Tut, tut, tut! No use talkin', blood will tell!" Issachar, who was putting coal on the office fire, turned his head. "Eh?" he queried. "Nothin'," said Captain Lote. He would have been surprised if he could have seen his grandson just at that moment.
Sergeant Speranza's body is still missing, but is thought to be buried beneath the ruins of the cottage. These ruins were subsequently blown into further chaos by a high explosive shell. Then followed more expressions of regret and sympathy and confirmation of the report concerning citation and the war cross. Captain Lote read the letter at first alone in his private office.
The reason I'm here is that I had to go down street to see about the sheathin' for the Red Men's lodge room. Issy took the order, but he wasn't real sure whether 'twas sheathin' or scantlin' they wanted, so I told Cap'n Lote I'd run down myself and straighten it out. On the way back I saw you two through the window and I thought I'd drop in and worry you. So here I am." Mrs. Ellis nodded.
"That leaves one chance, don't it. I ain't goin' to give up that chance for for my boy. I I Oh, Labe, I did think SO much of him." "I know, Rachel, I know. Don't cry any more than you can help. And if it helps you any to make believe I mean to keep on hopin' he's alive somewheres why, do it. It won't do any harm, I suppose. Only I wouldn't hint such a thing to Cap'n Lote or Olive."
"As to family," went on Captain Lote, "he's a Snow on his mother's side, and there's been seven generations of Snow's in this part of the Cape since the first one landed here. So far as I know, they've all managed to keep out of jail, which may have been more good luck than deservin' in some cases." "His father?" queried Fosdick. The captain's heavy brows drew together.
"Somethin's happened to bother him, that's sartin'. When Cap'n Lote gets his feet propped up and his head tilted back that way I can 'most generally cal'late he's doin' some real thinkin'. Real thinkin' yes, sir-ee um-hm yes yes. When he h'ists his boots up to the masthead that way it's safe to figger his brains have got steam up. Um-hm yes indeed." "But what is he thinking about?
"Well, I don't know whether he's right or you are, Cap'n Lote," she said, with a sigh, "but this I do know I wish this awful war was over and he was back home again." That remark ended the conversation. Olive resumed her own knitting, seeing it but indistinctly. Her husband did not continue his newspaper reading.
"I haven't lote my book," said Max, and looked ready to cry. "Don't be so mean, Muffie; sit down and wait," said Pauline. "Come on Max, darling, Paul will write yours the neatest of all. Now then." Max thrust his hands into his ridiculous pockets and stood with his legs well apart. He always told the same class of story though the variations were several.
Laban Keeler's comments were pithy and dryly pointed. Albert was very quiet. But one forenoon he spoke. Captain Lote was in the inner office, the morning newspaper in his hand, when his grandson entered and closed the door behind him. The captain looked up. "Well, Al, what is it?" he asked. Albert came over and stood beside the desk.
Everybody knows that that is, everybody but Grandfather and the gang down here," he added, in disgust. "I don't say you're wrong. Laban tells me that some of those singin' folks get awful high wages, more than the cap'n of a steamboat, he says, though that seems like stretchin' it to me. But, as I say, Cap'n Lote was proud, and nobody but the best would satisfy him for Janie, your mother.
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