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Updated: June 8, 2025
Milt was stooping, looking under; seemed to be saying something. When he came back, he did not speak. He wiped his forehead. "Come. We'll climb back up. Nothing to do, now. Guess you better not try to help, anyway. You might not sleep well." He gave her his hand up the embankment, drove to the nearest house, telephoned to Dr. Beach.
"No, I sha'n't be gone, but " Addressing herself to the astounded overalled man on the porch, she declared, "You're quite right, Jeff. And Milt is wrong. Insane adventure. Only, it's wonderful to be young enough to do insane adventures. Falling down abyssy places is so much more interesting than bridge. I'm going going going!... Milt, you telephone." "Don't you think you better?" "No, siree!
Who's your little friend in the rompers?" sang out a voice beside them. It was Milt Daggett the Milt who must be scores of miles ahead. His bug had caught up with them, was running even with them on the broad road.
"There's a magnolious medico ahead here on the pass," Pinky Parrott interrupted. "A young thing, but they say he's a graduate of Harvard. He's out here because he has some timber-claims. Look, Milt o' the Daggett, why don't you drive Miss Boltwood's 'bus make better time, and hustle the old gent up to the doc, and I'll come on behind with your machine." "Why," Claire fretted, "I hate "
She stopped on the first level space on the pass, crying, "You are perfectly miserable. I'm afraid of I think we ought to see a doctor." "Oh, I'll be all right." But she waited till Milt came pit-pattering up the slope. "Father feels rather sick. What shall I do? Turn round and drive to the nearest doctor at Cashmere, I suppose?"
"Not after the way he wallops the Ida," grunted Agnew. "Let Milt do it." "Boss," said Jonas suddenly, "tell 'em that poem about mercy I heard you give at at that banquet at our house." Enoch smiled, took his pipe from his lips, and began: "'The quality of mercy is not strained, It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven, Upon the place beneath " Enoch paused a moment.
Silberfarb returned the paranoiac dress-suit to the rack, sighing patiently as he laboriously draped it on a hanger. He peered and pawed. He crowed with throaty triumph and brought back a rich ripe thing of velvet collar and cuffs. He fixed Milt with eyes that had become as sulky as the eyes of a dog in August dust. "Now that you can't beat that, if you vant class, and it'll fit you like a glove.
"There's that girl again!" Milt Baker screwed his neck around for a look. "See who's come!" he cackled. "I bet it's one o' them moving picture actresses." Lawford cast on the ribald Milt a somewhat angry glance. Yet he did not speak again for a moment. "Tidy craft," grunted Cap'n Joab, eying the young woman who was approaching the store along the white road.
Pinky had soared up from his blankets; was lovingly shaking Milt's hand. Milt knew that he had been tricked, but he felt hopeless. Was it impossible to insult Pinky? He tried again: "I'll be frank with you. You're the worst wind-jamming liar I ever met. Now don't reach for that gat of yours. I've got a hefty rock right here handy."
"Wal, Milt," drawled the driver, "let's ooze along." Dale hesitated, with his hand on the door. He glanced at the crowd, now edging close again, and then at Helen. "I reckon I ought to tell you," he said, and indecision appeared to concern him. "What?" exclaimed Helen. "Bad news. But talkin' takes time. An' we mustn't lose any." "There's need of hurry?" queried Helen, sitting up sharply.
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