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Updated: May 21, 2025
He won't know whether he did or not. So-long." The driver once more lifted one finger to his hat and obediently drove off. It was very silent in McBurney Place; the double row of ancient stables made over into studio-buildings appeared deserted. The legless man could not but flatter himself that his actions had been unobserved.
Speer is used to breathe a new spirit of devotion among college students, and Mott to arouse and organize their service around the world. Geo. Williams and Robert McBurney become the leaders, British and American, in an in-Spirited movement to win young men by thousands.
It seemed to Wilmot that he had not seen Barbara for an age. And indeed a week had passed without their meeting. Therefore, although he had often been forbidden to call during working hours, he had himself driven to 17 McBurney Place and climbed the two flights of stairs to her studio. It was a disconsolate Barbara who received him. She had on her work-apron, but she was not working.
She says my face has all the sorrers and horrors of the world in it." "And then, you fool," said the legless man, "you spoiled her game by high living. You ate and you drank till you looked like a paranoiac bulldog asleep in the sun. Where was the lady's studio?" "Seventeen McBurney Place." "And she wants to do a Satan, does she?"
"And what earthly good does it do to print stuff like those shoplifting cases? Where's the harm in protecting the store?" "I'll tell you where," said Ellis. "That McBurney girl case. They got the wrong girl, and, to cover themselves, they tried to railroad her. It was a clear case. Every paper in town had the facts.
Upon arriving at No. 17 McBurney Place, and having climbed two flights of stairs, the door of her studio was opened before she could lay hand to the knob, and a very small boy with very big eyes, and no more flesh upon his bones than served to distinguish him from a living skeleton, appeared on the threshold, smiling, you may say, from head to foot.
Ferris hardly left his friend's side; on the morning of the third day, quite worn out, his jumping nerves soothed by a small dose of morphine, he called a taxicab, gave Barbara's number in McBurney Place, leaned back against the leather cushions, relaxed his muscles, and fell asleep. The taxicab and the legless man reached the curb in front of Barbara's studio at the same moment.
"Who is he?" "Mr. McBurney." "The man whose name is on your letterhead?" "The same." "Great guns! and to think that I've been monkeying all these weeks with a man like you pardon me, brother!" Robert R. McBurney was my friend to the day of his death. Many a time, when out of the pit, I reminded him of the incident.
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