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Updated: May 24, 2025
James McMurtagh was one of that vast majority of men who live, function, work, in their appointed way, and are never heard from, like a good digestion. This is the grand division which separates them from those who, be it for good or evil, or weakness even, will be protagonists.
To credit of Pirates, or Whom it may concern, sixteen thousand eight hundred and ninety-seven dollars." "Pirates!" he muttered; "it's a new account for us to carry. I'll not be sorry the day we write it off." Bowdoin, in the frivolity of youth, laughed. "And now," said McMurtagh, "you must tie up the bag again and seal it, and I must take it up and put it in the vault of the bank."
James. Then he remembered that Abby, his wife, had spoken of their nephew's absence. He was studying so hard, it had been said. "Thank you, Jamie. I'll see to it. Thank you very much, Jamie." Jamie turned to go. "Has Miss Mercy has Miss McMurtagh encouraged him?" Jamie turned back angrily. "She'll forbid the lad tha hoose, an ye say so." Mr.
McMurtagh slept not nights for thinking on these things. John Hughson he now saw to be impossible; Harley Bowdoin was out of the question; but were there not still genteel youths, clerks like himself, but younger, some class of life for his petted little lady?
I have a little business with the board." "They were discussing, sir," replied James, "the necessity of completing our work for the new organization. Is McMurtagh yet well enough to work?" "No," said the father. "What is your objection to proceeding without him?" asked Mr. Pinckney rather shortly. "None whatever," coolly answered Mr. Bowdoin. "None whatever?
All the common seamen were executed, that is, and Manuel Silva, the second in command, who had left the little girl with McMurtagh.
Bowdoin, as Miss Dowse stood haughtily aloof; and he looked then at Mercedes, who was left quite alone, yet followed Miss Dowse's example of dignity; Jamie standing behind, not beside her, hat in hand. "Ah, Ja Mr. McMurtagh," said Mr. Bowdoin, doffing his own. "And so this is our Miss Mercy again? Why don't you chase the oranges, my dear?"
James was deputed a committee of one to suggest the subject to Jamie McMurtagh. Old Mr. Bowdoin had ideas of his own about educating young women above their station, but he was considerably more afraid of Jamie than was Mr. James.
"That is, we should, of course, be glad to meet the gentleman at any time. What is his name?" "David St. Clair." "David Sinclair," repeated the old gentleman. "Mercedes Silva," said Mr. James musingly. "McMurtagh, if you please," said Jamie. "Jamie," said old Mr. Bowdoin, "our business is going away. The steamers will ruin it.
James put his foot on the desk and whistled. McMurtagh rubbed his hands. The office in which Mr. James found himself was a small, square, sunny corner room with four windows, in the third story of the upper angle of the long block of granite warehouses that lined the wharf.
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