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Updated: May 21, 2025
All these nagging miseries beset him but he knew the ways of the Indians and he meant to impress this old man first of all with his plains-Indian training; so he schooled himself to patience. The Indian eyed him furtively from under heavy eyebrows while he smoked. And the sun beat savagely down upon the sand of that basin, and Luck's vision blurred with the pain that throbbed behind his eyes.
The professional gambler had won a large sum of money; the largest sum he ever possessed. Yet there was no gleam of triumph in his keen eyes. Bert might have been winning for all the emotion his face showed. They were a well matched pair, and they enjoyed playing with each other. "There," cried Pony at last, "haven't you had enough? Luck's against you.
He called the groceryman names enough to convince Rosemary that her list had not been too long for his purse, and that Luck's occasional statement that he was broke must be taken figuratively; Luck breathed a sigh of relief that Rosemary, at least, was once more spared the knowledge that all was not yet plain sailing to a smooth harbor.
You remember the Mennonites that wanted to settle here and were afraid?" "There's no use for you to throw your life away making the country safe for them." "Of course not. I hadn't thought of them." "Nor any of these cold-nosed cowards that turn their backs on you for fear your luck's going to change. Luck! the fools!" "They don't figure in the case at all, Miss Thayer."
He believed in Luck's knowledge of the West, but he did not believe that the public would stand for the real West at all; the public, he maintained, wanted its West served hot and strong and reeking with the smoke of black powder. So "Well, the market demands that sort of thing," he declared, arguing against that curved palm and the telltale wrinkles around Luck's eyes.
"Don't say a word against that. It might spoil the run of it." "You are a superstitious beggar. No, I won't say anything against it." "That's right, sir. Don't you even think lightly of it. Luck's not to be played with." "Yes, luck's a delicate thing," assented Mr. Jones in a dreamy whisper. A short silence ensued, which Ricardo ended in a discreet and tentative voice.
A lucky idiot's ten times better off than a brainy man with a jinx on him! A smart man starts thinkin', and he thinks himself into a jail cell if his luck is bad, and good luck's wasted on him because it ain't reasonable and he don't believe in it when it happens! It's taken me a lifetime to keep my brains from ruinin' me! No, sir! I hope none o' my descendants inherit my brains!
"I'm w-warming my pistol-hand, Dig," he continued, "mustn't be cold or s-stiff tonight, you see. Oh, I tell you the luck's with me at last! He's b-been so vastly clever, Dig! He's dragged me down to hell, but tonight I'm g-going to-take him with me." And ever as he spoke, warming himself at the fire, Ronald Barrymaine kept his burning gaze upon Mr.
"But Charlotte," continued Coggan "not a word of the sort would Charlotte allow, nor the smallest item of taking in vain.... Ay, poor Charlotte, I wonder if she had the good fortune to get into Heaven when 'a died! But 'a was never much in luck's way, and perhaps 'a went downwards after all, poor soul."
The landlord, the lady, and Mr. Charles Wogan were all three, it seemed, in luck's way that September morning of the year 1719. Wogan was not surprised, his luck for the moment was altogether in, so that even when his horse stumbled and went lame at a desolate part of the road from Florence to Bologna, he had no doubt but that somehow fortune would serve him.
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