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Updated: May 21, 2025
"Man, the longest day she lives there'll be brutes that will say 'twas old man McKaye's money that framed an alibi for her. Son, no man or woman was ever so pure that some hypocrite didn't tread 'em under foot like dust and regard them as such. Lad, your wife will always be dust to some folks, but we're kindred to her so what do we care? We understand. Do not explain to the damned Pharisees.
Also, he was a lumberjack, and since lumberjacks never speak to the "main push" unless first spoken to, he did not regard it as all necessary to bring himself to Hector McKaye's notice when his alert intelligence informed him that The Laird had failed to recognize him in his going-away habiliments.
McKaye's pride and resentment are not so intense that she will sacrifice her son to them." "Then give her this address," Daney suggested weakly, and handed it over. "I'm caught between the upper and nether millstone, and I don't care what happens to me. Damn the women, say I. Damn them! Damn them!
That was the perfectly frank, friendly manner in which his employer and this outcast woman greeted each other, the earnestness with which they conversed, and the effect of the woman's low-spoken words upon the color of Hector McKaye's face. When The Laird took his leave, the lumberjack noted the increased respect the emotion, even with which he parted from her.
Daney, listening on the extension in the office of the manager, recognized the voice instantly as Nan Brent's. "Go on, Mrs. McKaye," he ordered. "That's the Brent girl calling Port Agnew." "Hello, Miss Brent. This is Donald McKaye's mother speaking. Can you hear me distinctly?" "Yes, Mrs. McKaye, quite distinctly." "Donald is ill with typhoid fever.
The big mulatto and two Greeks, lay unconscious before him; in the nickering light of the match, two blood-stained dirks gleamed in the grass, so, with a minute attention to detail, Dirty Dan possessed himself of these weapons, picked up his club, and, reasoning shrewdly that Donald McKaye's enemies had had enough combat for a few weeks at least, the dauntless fellow dragged the fallen clear of the path, in order that his youthful master might not stumble over them on his way home, and then disappeared into the night.
"Well, you are; but I can stand it, and whether I resent it or not cannot be a matter of much import to you or the others. And I'll try not to be disagreeable. Just why did you come to see me, Mrs. Daney?" "I might as well speak plainly, Miss Brent. Donald McKaye's action in ridding the Sawdust Pile of your neighbors has occasioned comment.
"And the sweetest thing about it, you angelic simpleton," she added, "is that you will never, never, never know why." The first hint of the tremendous events impending came to Mr. Daney through the medium of no less an informant than his wife. Upon returning from the mill office on the evening of Donald McKaye's marriage, Mr. Daney was met at his front door by Mrs.
In our day and generation, therefore, democracy is too high-priced for promiscuous dissemination; wherefore, as in an elder day, we turn from the teaching of the Man of Galilee and cling to tradition. Tradition was the stone in the road to Donald McKaye's happiness, and his strength was not equal to the task of rolling it away. Despair enveloped him.
He doesn't care a farthing for what people think or say, and he is too young to realize that one must pay some attention to public opinion. You realize that, of course." "I ought to, Mrs. Daney. I think I have had some experience of public opinion," Nan replied sadly. "Then, should Donald McKaye's impulsive sympathy lead him to er " "You mean that I am to discourage him in the event "
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