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Updated: September 25, 2025
He could not help remembering now the kind of remarks that were made by the more prosperous inhabitants of Market Dalling, his fellow citizens, when they went off for a short holiday to the South, in January or February. They would see this poor lady, this Mrs. Meeks, wandering round the gaming tables, and the sight would amuse and shock them.
This snuffing out of a human being like the erasure of a chalk man from a blackboard is one of the most impressive themes in dramaturgy. The case of Mary Snyder, in point, should not be without interest. A man of middle age, of the name of Meeks, came from the West to New York to find his sister, Mrs.
Women are all more or less fools, anyhow. I suppose they can't help it, but we ought to have it in mind." "I suppose there's something in it," said Henry, rather doubtfully. Meeks laughed. "Oh, I don't expect any man with a wife to agree with me," he said. "You might as well try to lift yourself by your boot-straps; but I've got standing-ground outside the situation and you haven't.
"I forgot to suggest, old man," he said, "that you should have taken the rooms by the month. They wouldn't have stuck you so much for 'em. "By the month!" exclaimed Meeks. "What do you mean?" "Oh, it'll take time to work the game this way. I told you it would cost you more. We'll have to wait till spring. There'll be a new city directory out then.
After waiting for two hours in the anteroom of the great detective's apartment, Meeks was shown into his presence. Jolnes sat in a purple dressing-gown at an inlaid ivory chess table, with a magazine before him, trying to solve the mystery of "They." The famous sleuth's thin, intellectual face, piercing eyes, and rate per word are too well known to need description. Meeks set forth his errand.
Henry looked back at the house. There were two lighted windows on the second floor. "Rose is going to bed," he said. "That light's in her room." "She looked happy enough to dazzle one when she came in, poor little thing," said Meeks. In his voice was an odd mixture of tenderness, admiration, and regret.
To-morrow you can go over there and sit with her, and let Miss Babcock take a nap." Meeks rose as he spoke. "I must be going," he said. "I needn't charge you again not to let anybody know what I've told you before the will is read. It is irregular, but I thought I'd cheer up Henry here a bit." "No, we won't speak of it," declared the husband and wife, almost in unison.
"So they be, the way other folks run 'em," said Henry; "but not the way I'd run 'em." "We'll have a good, steady horse that won't shy at one, if we have anything," said Sylvia, and her voice had weight. "There's a good buggy in Abrahama's barn," said Meeks. Sylvia made an unexpected start. "I think we are wicked as we can be!" she declared, violently.
At times it seemed to him that he really wished that he and Sylvia had never met with this good-fortune. Once he turned on Sidney Meeks with a fierce rejoinder, when Sidney had repeated the sarcasm which he loved to roll beneath his tongue like a honeyed morsel, that if he did not want his good-fortune it was the easiest thing in the world to relinquish it.
It soon became evident that they would not only need a route and schedule to make their journey successful, but also an enormous amount of general information about the countries they would pass over. "We'll have to study trade winds, oceanic storm conditions, temperatures, inhabitants, topography, and so forth, and so forth," drawled Tom Meeks.
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