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Updated: May 18, 2025
I must have seen the same one when I " King was instantly alert. When you were on the trail of ten grand you had to be alert, and suspicious of comparative strangers. "You saw someone who looked like Baker and Matson? A guy without a broken leg?" "I was leaving an apartment building on the Upper East Side this morning. I met him in the street." "You didn't tell me that." "I'm telling you now."
One bright summer morning, not more than fourscore years ago, David Matson, with his young wife and his two healthy, barefooted boys, stood on the bank of the river near their dwelling. They were waiting for Pelatiah Curtis to come round the point with his wherry, and take the husband and father to the port, a few miles below.
"What place is it?" "Mariana." "Mariana," repeated Fernando, "I have heard that name before. Where was it? Mariana, Mariana." Terrence came forward to his companions and said: "Now, lads, like as not the frinds of Matson may be afther following us. Lave it all to me. We'll change our names and go up to the tavern, where we'll hire rooms and be gintlemen traveling for pleasure."
Terrence was sitting aft the main cabin smoking a cigar, when the ensign, approaching, asked: "Where is Lieutenant Matson? I was told he went shooting with you last evening." "Sure he did. You will find him on Duck Island enjoying the sport I've no doubt. Faith, I had almost forgotten to tell ye to touch at the island and take him off, as ye sailed out of the harbor."
Matson sometimes left his paper where she could glance through it she read an article on working girls, how they were seduced to lives of shame by love of finery! Then she read that those who did not fall were restrained by religion and innate purity. There she laughed bitterly. Fear of disease, fear of maternity, yes. But where was this religion?
"Well, there might be some field for enterprise down there; and if they would accept our services " "What are you dreaming of?" screamed Bilsby; "work at gunnery for the benefit of foreigners?" "That would be better than doing nothing here," returned the colonel. "Quite so," said J. T. Matson; "but still we need not dream of that expedient." "And why not?" demanded the colonel.
Matson looked shocked, Victor amused, while the sensible driver muttered to himself as he gathered up his reins, "That gal is just what Collingwood needs to keep it from being a dungeon." Mrs.
Matson, Lulu, the chambermaid, and Victor had gotten up between them; and which, though not the best fit in the world, was, in color, exceedingly becoming to the dark-eyed child, who, perched upon the music-stool, was imitating her own operatic songs to the infinite delight of the old man, nodding his approval of the horrid discords. "Edith Hastings!" she exclaimed, "What are you doing here?"
She paid the ten cents; her new acquaintance went with her to the door, pointed out the huge bare wooden building displaying in great letters "J. C. Matson, Paper Boxes." "You apply at the office," said the waitress. "There'll be a fat black-complected man in his shirt with his suspenders let down off his shoulders. He'll be fresh with you.
The ambulance intern found it in his jacket pocket on a half-torn identification card. William Matson. But, damn it, there was something else. "Mr. Lester King?" "Right. What can I do for you?" "I had trouble in locating you. I wish to make a purchase." Queer duck. Damned queer. "What can I sell you?" "You are a photographer. You took a picture of a man injured on Park Avenue.
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