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Updated: June 19, 2025
I make no mistake, I think, if your statement wasn't in reply to some idle tale told your good wife and repeated by her to you in confidence, of course, as between man and wife." "If you'll excuse me, Mr. McKaye, I I'd rather not discuss it!" Mary Daney cried breathlessly. "I would I did not deem it a duty to discuss it myself, Mary.
"After all," he confided to the cuspidor, "it is up to the girl whether we fish or cut bait. But then, what man in his senses can trust a woman to stay put. Females are always making high dives into shoal water, and those tactless McKaye women are going to smear everything up yet. You wait and see." The longer Mr.
The girl has done this solely for Donald's sake." "Hector McKaye," Jane declared, "you've really got to do something very handsome for Andrew Daney." "Yes, indeed," Elizabeth cooed. "Dear, capable, faithful Andrew!" Mrs. McKaye sighed. "Ah, he's a canny lad, is Andrew," old Hector declared happily. "He took smart care not to compromise me, for well he knows my code.
Old Caleb sat at the dining-room table playing solitaire. He looked up as she entered, swept the cards into a heap and extended his old arm to encircle her waist as she sat on the broad arm of his chair. She drew his gray head down on her breast. "Dadkins," she said presently, "Donald McKaye isn't coming to dinner to-morrow after all." "Oh, that's too bad, Nan! Has he written you?
In the old days in the Michigan woods, when burling was considered a magnificent art of the lumberjack, he had been a champion, and for five minutes he spun his log until the water foamed, crossing and recrossing the river and winning the contest unanimously. From the bank, Mrs. McKaye and his daughters watched him with well-bred amusement and secret disapproval.
As a wife, it is probable that Nellie McKaye had not been an altogether unqualified success. She lacked tact, understanding and sympathy where her husband was concerned; she was one of that numerous type of wife who loses a great deal of interest in her husband after their first child is born.
The Laird waved his carving-knife. "Hear, hear!" he chuckled. "Spoken like a man, my son. Jane, my dear, if I were you, I wouldn't press this matter further. It's a delicate subject." "I'm sure I do not see why Jane should not be free to express her opinion, Hector." Mrs. McKaye felt impelled to fly to the defense of her daughter.
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.
Fifteen minutes later, the young Laird of Port Agnew reposed in the best room of his own hospital, and Andrew Daney was risking his life motoring at top speed up the cliff road to The Dreamerie with bad news for old Hector. Mrs. McKaye and the girls had retired but The Laird was reading in the living-room when Daney entered unannounced.
They do that up at the Bremerton navy-yard." "That's rather a nice, sentimental idea," Hector McKaye replied. "I rather like old Brent and his girl for that. We Americans are too prone to take our flag and what it stands for rather lightly." "Nan wants me to have colors up here, too," Donald continued. "Then she can see our flag, and we can see theirs across the bight."
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