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Updated: May 10, 2025
Otterson, Mr. March. Well, had your first glass, yet, Jenny? I'm just going for my second tumbler." He took his wife back to the spring, and began to tell her about Stoller; she made no sign of caring for him; and March felt inculpated.
My name's Otterson: I'm from out in Iowa." March gave him his name, and added that he was from New York. "Yes. I thought you was Eastern. But that wasn't an Eastern man you was just with?" "No; he's from Chicago. He's a Mr. Stoller." "Not the buggy man?" "I believe he makes buggies." "Well, you do meet everybody here." The Iowan was silent for a moment, as if, hushed by the weighty thought.
In the diminishing crowd the smile of Otterson was no longer to be seen; the sad, severe visage of Major Eltwin, who seemed never to have quite got his bearings after his error with General Triscoe, seldom showed itself. The Triscoes themselves kept out of the Marches' way, or they fancied so; Mrs. Adding and Rose alone remained of their daily encounter.
My name's Otterson: I'm from out in Iowa." March gave him his name, and added that he was from New York. "Yes. I thought you was Eastern. But that wasn't an Eastern man you was just with?" "No; he's from Chicago. He's a Mr. Stoller." "Not the buggy man?" "I believe he makes buggies." "Well, you do meet everybody here." The Iowan was silent for a moment, as if, hushed by the weighty thought.
Otterson," said March. "Indeed, indeed," said the lady, "I'd like to see a king too, if it didn't take all night. Good-evening," she said, turning her husband about with her, as if she suspected a purpose of patronage in Mrs. March, and was not going to have it.
Otterson, Mr. March. Well, had your first glass, yet, Jenny? I'm just going for my second tumbler." He took his wife back to the spring, and began to tell her about Stoller; she made no sign of caring for him; and March felt inculpated.
"Introduce you to Mrs. Otterson. I'm the fool in my family, and I know just how you feel about a chance like this. I don't mean that you're " They all laughed at the hopeless case, and Mrs. March said, with one of her unexpected likings: "I understand, Mr. Otterson. And I would rather be our kind of fool than the kind that pretends not to care for the sight of a king." "Like you and me, Mrs.
Probably he had come to borrow money, and she had promised that she would not fail him. When she reached the High Street she was soaked. She felt the water dripping down her neck and in her boots. At the corner of the High Street by the bookseller's she was forced to pause, so fiercely did the wind beat up from the Otterson Road, that runs openly to the sea.
Otterson looked over his shoulder to explain, despairingly: "The trouble with me is that when I do get a chance to talk English, there's such a flow of language it carries me away, and I don't know just where I'm landing." There were several kings and their kindred at Carlsbad that summer. One day the Duchess of Orleans drove over from Marienbad, attended by the Duke on his bicycle.
Otterson, and then went back to our claims again. In taking care of our money we had to be our own bankers, and the usual way was to put the slugs we received for pay into a gallon pickle jar, and bury this in some place known only to our particular selves, and these vaults we considered perfectly safe. The slugs were fifty dollar pieces, coined for convenience, and were eight-sided, heavy pieces.
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