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Updated: May 13, 2025
But Herman was finding something in his father's jaded mien. It stopped him on the tide of happiness, and he spoke impetuously. "She's dragged it out o' you! Mother's been tellin' you! I don't want it that way, father, not unless it's your own free will. I won't have it no other way." It was a man's word to a man. Myron straightened himself to his former bearing.
"I thought your calls were going to take till dinner, Myron," called Harrie, through the blinds. "I thought so too," said Myron, placidly, "but they do not seem to. Won't you come down?" Harrie thanked him, saying, in a pleasant nonchalant way, that she could not leave the baby.
"I bought it because it lays next to the Turnbull place, and when that come into my hands last fall, I knew 'twas only a matter o' time till I got the medder, too." "Well, what you goin' to do with it?" A tinge of anxiety was apparent in her voice, a wistful suggestiveness, as if she could conceive of uses that would be almost too fortunate to be hoped for. Myron hesitated.
Then Captain Baker appealed to Ambassador Myron T. Herrick. Although the ambassador was enthusiastic for the Exposition, he said that, in such a crisis, he could not ask France to spend the four hundred thousand dollars set apart for use in San Francisco.
He wrote that he didn't know where he was going, but that he wouldn't be back anytime soon. He asked her to send his last check to Jacksonville, Florida, care of General Delivery. He signed it "Love, Oliver." Spring was a good time of year to go down the coast. He wanted to get far from Maine. He called Myron and asked him to send a check for ten thousand dollars to the same address.
I go there soon as I can get a drink of hot coffee and find that poor Myron Bughalter is having his troubles. He'd got there at seven, thinking, of course, to find both his prisoners gone; and here in the corridor is Pete setting on the chest of Sing Wah, where he'd been all night, I guess!
It chanced to be one of Alger's, which somebody had lent to the Doctor before Harrie's illness; it was a marked book, and I ran my eye over the pencilled passages. I recollect having been struck with this one: "A man's best friend is a wife of good sense and good heart, whom he loves and who loves him." "You believe that?" said Myron, suddenly, behind my shoulder.
The bookkeeper said, "Well!" with much significance, but it remained for Mrs. Neifkins to give the real offense. The expression on her vapid face implied that she was aghast at their impudence. Gathering the fullness of her skirt as though to withdraw it from contamination she laid the other hand on her husband's arm: "There's a place over there, Myron, where we can get in."
Sharpe had mending to do, and, as she could not sew on her husband's buttons satisfactorily by moonlight, would slip into the dining-room with kerosene and mosquitoes for company. The Doctor may have noticed, or he may not, how comfortably he could, if he made the proper effort, pass the evening without her. But Myron Sharpe loved his wife. To be sure he did.
In the eloquent language of the lamented Myron Holley, the man who first lifted up the standard of the Liberty Party: "He calls upon us to sustain these truths in the recorded voice of the holy of ancient times.
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