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Updated: June 11, 2025
Tom Osby turned and looked at her gravely. "And there comes down to meet us at the station," he concluded, "the only man we needed to help us put this thing through." Tom Osby finished his tea in silence. Constance herself made no comment. Her gaze was on the far-off mountains.
There rose before her the picture of a primitive world, whose swift appeal clutched at her heart, saturated and sated with unreal things grown banal. "Besides," went on Tom Osby, "if we had an op'ry house, it wouldn't do no good. Why I don't want to be imperlite, but I've heard that op'ry singers cost as high as ten dollars a night, or maybe more. We couldn't afford it.
"Tell me," she cried at length, arising and pacing restlessly, "what do you do at Heart's Desire?" "Nothing," said Tom Osby. "I just told you, I reckon." "Do you have any amusements? Are there ever any entertainments?" "Why, law! no, ma'am!" She threw back her head and laughed.
"You'll have to sing that there song, 'Annie Laurie, like I heard it more than onct, before I went away from home." The soft Georgia speech came back to his tongue, and she followed it herself, unconsciously. "My friend," said she, "you're right. I reckon I'll have to sing." "When?" said Tom Osby. "Now," said Alice Strowbridge. She rose and stepped toward the piano open near the fire.
"And as to Tom Osby, fellers, I'll bet a plug of tobacco that's him pullin' in at the head of town right now." "Just like I said," exclaimed Doc Tomlinson. "He's good enough railroad for any one, and he's safe! I wonder what did he bring this time." What Tom Osby brought this time, besides sundry merchandise for Whiteman the Jew, was a parrot and a pair of twins.
Further conversation, however, was interrupted by a deep snore from the rear of the wagon. "That," said Tom Osby, "sounds like the old man had got the potato loose." "I'm ashamed of him," declared Constance. "Natural," said Tom; "but why special?" "He oughtn't to touch that whiskey. I hate it." "So do I, when it ain't good. That in the can is good.
The shadows of night had fallen when at length Tom Osby crept stealthily to his door and looked around. The street seemed deserted and silent, as usual. Tom Osby stepped to the side of the bed and withdrew from under the blankets the bit of gutta-percha which Curly had noticed him conceal. He adjusted the record in the machine and sprung the catch.
And so Tom Osby, proud in his new possession, played for his audience, there in the adobe by the arroyo; played all his records, or nearly all; played them over and over again. It was nearly night when we left the place. "Excuse me," said Dan Anderson to me, with a motion as though adjusting a cravat upon my neck, "but your white tie is slipping around under your ear again."
"I'm goin' to take you up to the hotel, ma'am," said Tom Osby, after Constance had finished her third breakfast, "and then, after that, I'm goin' to take Dan Anderson back home to Heart's Desire. We'll see you up there after a while. "One thing I want to tell you, ma'am, is this. We've got along without a railroad, all right, and we ain't tearin' our clothes to have one now.
"Man," said Tom Osby, "there's times when I don't like you." "Well, then, cut out the lace. I'll even leave off the diamonds." "She's settin' right there," said Tom Osby, wagging his forefinger, "and she's dressed in white " "With a blue sash " "Sure! And she sings!
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