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Updated: June 29, 2025
"I'll bet none of 'em can go," he said. "They've all got jobs for the vacation. I'm glad we've got our money earned." "I just thought of another difficulty," sighed Charley. "Not one of us owns a boat." "We can borrow one," said Lew. "I hate to borrow things," replied Charley. "You remember how I borrowed old man Packer's bob-sled and broke it and then had to pay to have it remade.
A shadow crept into his face. "No," he added, "unless it is as a successful man, it is scarcely likely that I shall go back again." Ida glanced at him covertly, with thoughtful eyes. Though his attire was neater than it had been when she had seen him on other occasions, he still wore the bush packer's usual dress.
The old woman shook her head. 'Don't mind her, she said; 'she's a strange creetur, if you know'd her, Rob. But Mr Carker 'Hush! said Rob, glancing cautiously up at the packer's, and at the bottle-maker's, as if, from any one of the tiers of warehouses, Mr Carker might be looking down. 'Softly. 'Why, he ain't here! cried Mrs Brown.
He merely retied the luggage with a packer's hitch that would take the greenhorn through his whole vocabulary before he untied it that night, and he would add two bits to the price of the gas because his time belonged to Bill, and Bill expected Casey's time to be paid for by the public.
The heavy rain had obliterated the cub's tiny footprints, but the sand was cut up by the grizzly's tracks. The packer's teeth gleamed as he looked at Langdon. "He ain't very far," he whispered. "Shouldn't wonder if he spent the night pretty close an' he's mooshing on just ahead of us." He wet a finger and held it above his head to get the wind. He nodded significantly.
Get one for your mother: she can't see over there by the table." Lizzie Packer's ready ears caught a provoking tone in her father's voice, but she dropped her sewing, and went to get the hand-lamp from the high mantelpiece. "Have you got a match in your pocket? You know we're all out; I found the last this mornin' in the best room."
I guess that's about as good as coming from Iowa and carrying your dinner in a pail while you're getting your start selling sausage casings in a basket. I don't think a packer's much nohow. We're in leather. "But, good-by," says she now. "I've got to go home. I've got to tell mommah to get those papers started. Pretty soon I'll bring Tom over."
"Why, she was playing last summer in stock out at Seeleyville, Pennsylvania. That's only about six miles from Packer's Ridge, where my father lives. I spent a couple of weeks with him, and we trolleyed over one evening to see 'The Little Minister, because father got it in his head some way that it was about the Baptists, and I couldn't talk him out of it.
He could sell all the wood and timber he could buy, and buy so cheap, to larger dealers; and a certain builder having given him an order for some unusually wide and clear pine at a large price, his withering eye had been directed toward the landmark trees on John Packer's farm. On the road home from the Packer farm that winter afternoon Mr.
'No, there's no harm in it, I know, returned Rob, with the same distrustful glance at the packer's and the bottle-maker's, and the church; 'but blabbing, if it's only about the number of buttons on my master's coat, won't do. I tell you it won't do with him. A cove had better drown himself. He says so. I shouldn't have so much as told you what his name was, if you hadn't known it.
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