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Updated: May 2, 2025
Not as President, but representing his district in Congress. Tommy's hotel had outgrown the original modest building and was now modern and fireproof. Henry was married, he had had several new cars, and his wife wore sables and seal. The old arcade was no more; nor the old post-office. But O-liver still talked to admiring circles in the hotel lobby or to greater crowds in the town hall.
He'd be darned if he wanted it. Money brought burdens. As for himself, he'd read and ride Mary Pick. "Anyhow," said Henry, with his hands folded across his stomach Henry had grown fat riding in his car "anyhow, when you get old you'll be sorry." "I shall never grow old," said O-liver, and stood up. "I shall be young till I die."
It's Tinkersfield. You want an honest man. And O-liver Lee's honest. He doesn't want your money. He's got enough of his own. His father's the richest man in his part of the state and his wife's a movie actress and makes as much as the President. It sounds like a fairy tale, but it isn't. If O-liver Lee wanted to live on his father or his wife he could hold out his hand and let things drop into it.
From somewhere in the darkness went up the words of an evil chant: What's the matter with O-liver, O-liver, White-livered O-liver? Ask Jane, Sandwich Jane, O-liver, white liver, Jane, Jane, Jane. Jane felt her heart stand still. Back of her she heard Tommy swearing: "It's all their damned wickedness!"
It had been fall then, with the hills brown and the berries red on the pepper trees. It was spring now, with all the world green and growing. She had spoken of him to Tommy, and Tommy had been a faithful go-between. He had played upon their mutual love of books. At first O-liver had sent her books, then he had taken them.
You were light shining into the darkness of Tinkersfield. Jove, I wish I were a painter to put you on canvas as you were that night!" They had ridden down later under the stars, and as they had stood for a moment overlooking the lights of the little town O-liver had said: "I make my big speech to-morrow night to beat Tillotson. I want you to be there. Will you?
O-liver saw her most often at the shop, when he stopped in for a pot of beans eating them on the spot and discoursing on many things. "My Boston grandmother baked beans like this," he told her on one occasion. "She was a great little woman, Jane, as essentially of the East as you are of the West.
O-liver weighing the hollowness of it all had thought whimsically of an old nursery rime: The first sent a goose without a bone; The second sent a cherry without a stone; The third sent a blanket without a thread; The fourth sent a book that no man could read. At the end of the settlement was a vast studio lighted by a glass roof.
"I'd give," said O-liver, "my kingdom for a horse, but not for a car." O-liver's little mare stood quite happily in the shade; she was slim as to leg, shining as to coat, and with the eyes of a loving woman. "I should think you'd want to get ahead," said Atwood Jones, who sold shoes up and down the coast. He was a junior member of the firm, but still liked to go on the road.
"One of the fellows got gay and called him 'Ollie. Lee stopped him. 'My name is Oliver Lee. If you want a nickname you can say "O-liver." But I'm not "Ollie" from this time on, understand? And I'm darned if the fellow didn't back down. There was something about O-liver that would have made anybody back down. He didn't have a gun; it was just something in his voice."
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