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Updated: May 21, 2025
"You're to drive the mules up to McGlynn's and unhitch them and leave them," said he. "I'm to show you the way." "Where's McGlynn?" I asked. "He's getting his mail." We drove to a corral and three well-pitched tents down in the southern edge of town. Here a sluggish stream lost its way in a swamp of green hummocky grass. I turned out the mules in the corral and hung up the harness.
She sat on the high seat beside John McGlynn's lank figure, above the broad backs of the great horses; and Keith in his shirtsleeves, his hair every which way, a smudge of black across his nose, balanced in the flat dray body behind. Nan tried to imagine the sensation they would create in Baltimore, and laughed aloud. "Is sort of funny," commented John McGlynn sympathetically.
"This office opens at 8:30 A.M." said the clerk, slamming shut the window. Without an instant's hesitation, and before the man had a chance to retire, McGlynn's huge fist crashed through the glass and into his face. The crowd had waited patiently; but now, with a brutal snarl, it surged forward. McGlynn, a pleasant smile on his face, swung slowly about. "Keep your line, boys!
Mindful of John McGlynn's advice, she did this by precept, ringing her own door bell, presenting a card as though calling on herself. Wing Sam's placid exterior changed not. A half hour later the door bell rang, but no Wing Sam appeared to answer it. It rang again, and again, until Nan herself opened the door. On the doorstep stood Wing Sam himself.
He fell into an intent reverie, biting at his short moustache. I arose softly to my feet. "Johnny," said I, in a strangled little voice, "I've got to give back McGlynn's change. Want to go with me?" We tiptoed around the corner of the building, and fell into each other's arms with shrieks of joy. "Oh!" cried Johnny at last, wiping the tears from his eyes. "Money's no trouble!"
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