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Updated: May 14, 2025
"Gammon!" "Gammon nothing! Facts!" "Facts? You're off your head, man. The thing couldn't possibly happen. Somebody's having you!" "Well, somebody had him, at all events. Young Carboys, I mean the chap that's engaged, or, rather was engaged, to Captain Morrison's daughter; and the poor girl's half out of her mind over it.
Hastily seizing a lexicon, he assumed the attitude of the seeker after knowledge, and said, 'Come in. It was not the House-master, but Evans, Morrison's fag, who entered with pride on his face and a piece of paper in his hand. 'I say, he began, 'you remember you told me to hunt up some tags for the poem. Will this do? Morrison took the paper with a judicial air.
But they are not much better kept and looked after than the streets of New York. And they are certainly less busy and animated than when I last was here, five years ago. All the canals, however, are not filled up or bridged over. From my windows, in a neat comfortable little private hotel on Morrison's Quay, I look down upon the deck of a small barque, moored well up among the houses.
In hour or two after Martin Kelly had left Porto Bello in the Ballinasloe fly-boat, our other hero, Lord Ballindine, and his friend Dot Blake, started from Morrison's hotel, with post horses, for Handicap Lodge; and, as they travelled in Blake's very comfortable barouche, they reached their destination in time for a late dinner, without either adventure or discomfort.
On it goes through the forest mile after mile, up hill and down, until it emerges abruptly into the open country at the head of the "Deadwater," passes Morrison's, is met half a mile farther on by the new road leading down from Big Shanty camp, and continues straight ahead through a rough notch out to a valley twelve miles beyond. It was over this road that Alice Thayor went to her exile.
Morrison's visit, was a native of Lochaber, Angus MacMaster by name, an active, intelligent man, of about thirty years of age, a most useful man, a capital shot, an expert angler, and one of the best violinists in the West Highlands.
"I shall be able to tell you better after I have seen the parties concerned," said Cleek, after a moment's pause. "You have brought your motor, of course? Let us step into it, then, and whizz round to Captain Morrison's house. What's that? Oh, undoubtedly a case of foul play, Mr. Narkom.
You can catch a fast steamer to-morrow, either for South Africa or New York, but before I make any definite plans, hadn't you better tell me exactly what happened last night?" Once more Morrison's lips parted without the ability to frame words. Then a feeble moan escaped him. He threw up his hands and his head fell back.
And Bert and Dave were already good friends; very good friends indeed, as Irene suspected from fragments of conversation which either of them dropped from time to time. Although she never doubted the singleness of Dave's devotion she sometimes suspected that in Bert Morrison's presence he felt a more frank comradeship than in hers.
"Well, go on!" cried Bartley, good-naturedly, and he sat down in his chair, which he tilted back, and, clasping his hands behind his head, looked up into Morrison's face. "What do I mean by what?" Probably Morrison had not expected to be categorical, or to bring anything like a bill of particulars against Bartley, and this demand gave him pause.
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