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Updated: June 23, 2025
Soon as you strike 'Frisco, take a cab, and just say, 'Holmes's place, Myrdon Avenue' I doubt if the Myrdon Avenue is necessary. The cabby'll know where Judge Holmes lives. "And say," Pentfield continued, after a pause, "it won't be a bad idea for you to get me a few little things which a er " "A married man should have in his business," Hutchinson blurted out with a grin. Pentfield grinned back.
Pentfield harnessed his dogs, and with Lashka behind took the trail down the creek bed of Bonanza. Spring was in the air. The sharpness had gone out of the bite of the frost and though snow still covered the land, the murmur and trickling of water told that the iron grip of winter was relaxing.
"And I have told you I've five hundred that says it's not in that paper," Pentfield answered, at the same time throwing a heavy sack of dust on the table. "I am sorry to take your money," was the retort, as Inwood thrust the newspaper into Pentfield's hand. Pentfield saw, though he could not quite bring himself to believe.
Pentfield cried sharply, bending his nails on the table, so tight was the clutch with which he strove to control himself. The dice rolled forth, an upturned six meeting their eyes. Both men sat staring at it. There was a long silence. Hutchinson shot a covert glance at his partner, who, still more covertly, caught it, and pursed up his lips in an attempt to advertise his unconcern.
All the other papers had it correctly, and of course that one miserable paper was the very one you saw!" "Wait a moment! What do you mean?" Pentfield demanded, a sudden fear at his heart, for he felt himself on the verge of a great gulf. But Dora swept volubly on.
Hutchinson winced and breathed heavily. "Quit it!" he burst out with sudden fury, as the other struck into a gaily lifting swing. "It drives me mad. I can't stand it" Pentfield tossed the banjo into a bunk and quoted: "Hear me babble what the weakest won't confess I am Memory and Torment I am Town! I am all that ever went with evening dress!"
Corry Hutchinson gasped, and Pentfield left him and returned to the two women. Mabel, with a worried expression on her face, seemed holding herself aloof. He turned to Dora and asked, quite genially, as though all the world was sunshine: "How did you stand the trip, anyway? Have any trouble to sleep warm?" "And, how did Mrs. Hutchinson stand it?" he asked next, his eyes on Mabel.
The other man winced where he sat and dropped his head forward on the table. Pentfield resumed the monotonous drumming with his knuckles. A loud snap from the door attracted his attention. The frost was creeping up the inside in a white sheet, and he began to hum:
In the lull at the end of a deal, while the game-keeper was shuffling the deck, Nick Inwood the owner of the game, remarked, apropos of nothing: "I say, Pentfield, I see that partner of yours has been cutting up monkey-shines on the outside." "Trust Corry to have a good time," Pentfield had answered; "especially when he has earned it."
"Why, when it became known that Mabel and I were going to Klondike, EVERY OTHER WEEK said that when we were gone, it would be lovely on Myrdon Avenue, meaning, of course, lonely." "Then " "I am Mrs. Hutchinson," Dora answered. "And you thought it was Mabel all the time " "Precisely the way of it," Pentfield replied slowly. "But I can see now. The reporter got the names mixed.
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