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Late in the afternoon Harry and Samson left the Kelsos and their effects at a small frame house in the little village of Hopedale. The men had no sooner begun to unload than its inhabitants came to welcome the newcomers and help them in the work of getting settled. When the goods were deposited in The dooryard Samson and Harry drove to John Peasley's farm. Mr.
The incident, as he stood there ankle-deep in the snow, seemed to him another inexplicable and uselessly cruel caprice of fate. As he pictured her in the dining room behind Mr. Crewe's silver and cut glass and flowers, it was undoubtedly natural that he should wonder whether she were thinking of him in the Widow Peasley's lamp-lit cottage, and he smiled at the contrast.
Ain't you the man that shot a feller out West? Seems to me I heerd somethin' about it." "Which one did you hear about?" Austen asked. "Good Lord!" said Mr. Putter, "you didn't shoot more'n one, did you?" It was just three o'clock when Austen drove into the semicircle opposite the Widow Peasley's, rang Mr.
"Good boy, Peasley! Sure! Cut it out, Jim! Get busy!" A dozen voices seconded Captain Matt Peasley's motion and Jim Searles rapped for order. "How much am I offered?" he cried. "One million dollars!" roared Matt Peasley. On the fringe of the eager crowd Cappy Ricks leaned up against his friend Redell and commenced to laugh. "The young scoundrel!" he chortled.
The hawser's fast for'd, Mr. Murphy. Cast off your stern line." "All clear for'd, sir," Matt Peasley's shout came ranging down the wind, and the tug snatched the big barkentine out from the mill dock into the stream where she cast her off, put her big towing hawser aboard, paid it out and started for Grays Harbor bar. On a certain day in February Mr.
"Why, how be you, Austen?" he cried, extending a welcome hand; and, when Austen had told him his dilemma: "Come right along up to my lodgings. I live at the Widow Peasley's, and there's a vacant room next to mine." Austen accepted gratefully, and as they trudged through the storm up the hill, he inquired how legislative matters were progressing. Whereupon Mr. Redbrook unburdened himself.
Putter's best robe about her feet, the mare leaped forward, and they were off, out of the circle and flying up the hill on the hard snow-tracks. "Whew!" exclaimed Victoria, "what a relief! Are you staying in that dear little house?" she asked, with a glance at the Widow Peasley's. "Yes," said Austen. "I wish I were." He looked at her shyly.
"Saved!" he croaked. "By the Holy Pink-toed Prophet! Saved! Bully for Mike Murphy! Say, when that fellow gets back, if I don't do something handsome for him " Matt Peasley's scowls had been replaced by smiles. "God bless his old Mickedonian heart!" he said fervently.
Skinner was preparing the reply to Matt Peasley's cablegram, and dictating for Cappy Ricks' signature a letter to Noah Kendall's widow, Cappy was busy at the telephone.
When Cappy Ricks got that telegram he flew into a rage and refused to believe Matt Peasley's statement until he had first called up a dealer in hides and confirmed it. The entire office staff wondered all that day what made Cappy so savage. By the following day, however, Cappy's naturally optimistic nature had reasserted itself.
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