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"Can't sell his head? What sort of a bamboozingly story is this you are telling me?" getting into a towering rage. "Do you pretend to say, landlord, that this harpooneer is actually engaged this blessed Saturday night, or rather Sunday morning, in peddling his head around this town?" "That's precisely it," said the landlord, "and I told him he couldn't sell it here, the market's overstocked."
It's very little farther than where th' cattle pens are i' th' hollow yonder; and it's different wark to what you see here. Th' main sewer will have to be brought clean across i' this direction, an' it'll be a stiffish job. Th' cattle market's goin' to be shifted out o' yon hollow, an' in another year or two th' whole scene about here will be changed."
My ulcers are all going away now, with this warm cabin, but they were throbbing all night before. When I come down such a crack I was makin' a run for the taickle, for fear we might let the gear drop, and I saw a flash in my eyes, and nothing more till I was aboard here." "You were trawling when that breeze started?" "Yes. We mustn't mind weather when the market's to be considered.
Sam was an ambitious youth and, being desirous of becoming a banker in the shortest possible time, read the financial page with conscientious thoroughness. I assured him that the market's fever was not contagious at least I had not contracted the disease and sent him out to sweep the front steps.
Fear is the offspring of a reliance placed on something outside on a foreman's good-will, perhaps, on a shop's prosperity, on a market's steadiness. That is just another way of saying that fear is the portion of the man who acknowledges his career to be in the keeping of earthly circumstances. Fear is the result of the body assuming ascendancy over the soul.
They were half-naked and grimed with dust, but Hawtrey, who was dressed in store clothes, had evidently taken no share in their labours. When Edmonds came in he turned to him with anxiety in his face. "Well?" he said sharply. "Market's a little stiffer," said Edmonds.
"Here you are," I said. Short story. 'Lady Mary's Mistake, by Sidney Price. How about that?" "That's it, Julian," he said dismally; "that's just it. Those three devils have pinched my job. They've learned the trick of the thing through reading my stuff, and now they're turning it out for themselves. They've cut me out. My market's gone. The editors and publishers won't look at me.
"Do you pretend to say, landlord, that this harpooneer is actually engaged this blessed Saturday night, or rather Sunday morning, in peddling his head around this town?" "That's precisely it," said the landlord, "and I told him he couldn't sell it here, the market's overstocked." "With what?" shouted I. "With heads to be sure; ain't there too many heads in the world?"
But just then Macalister came in. "I wanted to see you, Carey," he said. "My people don't feel inclined to hold those shares any more, the market's in such an awful state, and they want you to take them up." Philip's heart sank. He knew that was impossible. It meant that he must accept the loss. His pride made him answer calmly. "I don't know that I think that's worth while.
"You mean I oughtn't sell the cattle, Duke?" "Yes, I think you ought to clean them out. The bulk of them are in as high condition as they'll ever be, and the market's better right now that it's been in years." "Well, what sort of a proposal were you going to make, Duke?" "Sheep." "Father used to consider turning around to sheep. The country would come to it, he said."
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