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"Grand, Con, grand!" replied the Rube with his frank smile. "I was a little anxious till I warmed up. But say! I've got more up my sleeve today than I ever had." "That'll do for me," said Morrisey, rubbing his hands. "I'll spring something on these swelled Quakers today. Now, Connelly, give Hurtle one of your old talks the last one and then I'll ring the gong."
Ministering angels God's own! "Mrs. Morrisey, I am going to London." "Very good, sir!" Mrs. Morrisey was giving up all hopes of this restless young master of hers. "Very good, sir!" "I shall be back" he paused "eventually, if not sooner!" "Certainly, sir!" said Mrs. Morrisey, who had no sense of humour. "Meanwhile, send on any letters to the Northborough Hotel.
Bonner's comfortable but restricted cottage, it was good to be back in the spacious old rooms of Hurst Dormer. Hugh Alston was a home man. He had wired Mrs. Morrisey, and now he was back. To-night he slept once again in his own bed, the bed he had slept in since boyhood. The following morning brought a telegram delivered by a shock-headed village urchin.
Morrisey said the soldiers at Ponce were in a fairly good condition, but it is his opinion that it is no fit place for them under the present condition of the country. He said when the soldier is taken down with typhoid malaria or dysentery he loses flesh rapidly, and he can never regain it as long as he stays in that climate."
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