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Updated: May 24, 2025
Ed Matheson to this day tells the story of the adventures of Ungava Bob as Bob Gray has thenceforth been called not forgetting to embellish the tale with flights of fancy; and of course Dick Blake warns the listeners that these imaginative variations are "just some o' Ed's yarns," and Bob laughs at them good-naturedly.
Name, Mrs Matheson." While he was waiting for the connection to be made, Sylvester entered the room and silently showed a visiting-card to his chief. It was Olive's card. Acting on a sudden impulse, she had motored to the office to see this mysterious John Rivière before he should evade her.
The happiness I then enjoyed I cannot describe; my peace flowed as a river. Duncan Matheson and Richard Weaver were contemporaries. They were born at about the same time; and, at about the same time they were converted. Matheson was Scottish; Weaver was English. Matheson was a stonemason; Weaver was a coal-miner; in due course both became evangelists.
"Write me that paper I want, and pay me my money." "Write what ?" "That the lower shaft and the last drift was cut by your order. Write it!" He pointed to the paper on the desk. Wickersham sat down and wrote a few lines. His hand trembled. "Here it is," he said sullenly. "Now pay me," said the glowering Scotchman. The money was paid, and Matheson, without a word, turned and walked out. "D him!
I'm paying you a very good salary for a man of your age, and I expect a closed mouth about my affairs." "Of course." "Get the reason for it. This deal I'm engaged on is a big thing, and there are plenty of City people in London who'd like to know just what I'm planning, and just why Matheson and I sent you to Canada. I want you to keep them guessing until the scheme's floated. D'you get that?"
On all sides and from all parties a storm of cheers broke forth. Then the Reverend Murdo Matheson rose to his feet. "Mr. Mayor," he said, "I confess I was not hopeful of the result of this meeting. But I am sure we all recognise the presence and influence of a mightier Spirit than ours.
Everything was safe nothing was spoiled. But who could have done it? Miss Octavia was puzzled. On one side of her lived Mrs. Kennedy, who had just moved in and, being a total stranger, would not be likely to think of Miss Octavia's flowers. On the other lived Miss Matheson, who was a "shut-in" and spent all her time on the sofa. But to Miss Matheson Miss Octavia went.
You would legally have been a widow, and I as Clifford Matheson should legally have been dead.... But now, both you and Larssen, and his secretary as well, know that Clifford Matheson is alive." "Does anyone else know?" "No one." "Larssen will certainly keep the secret. So will his secretary. So shall I. That's no difficulty."
"That makes me think of another story I read the other day about Great-uncle Andrew King and Aunt Georgina," laughed the Story Girl. "It happened eighty years ago. It was a very stormy winter and the roads were bad. Uncle Andrew lived in Carlisle, and Aunt Georgina she was Miss Georgina Matheson then lived away up west, so he couldn't get to see her very often.
There was an unmistakable quickening on all sides. It was suggested to the duchess by Mr. Duncan Matheson, who had been her missionary in the district for some years, that a great assembly might be gathered together for two or three days in one of her parks. The matter was carefully weighed by one who shrunk from anything like undue novelty or unsound sensationalism.
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