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Updated: May 13, 2025
This perfessor was a great friend of old Henry Lockman an' the old man used to run this town with his little finger. But they had a big strike here three years ago, and too many men got hit over the head. So it'll be a long day before there's any more 'reform' in Lockmanville." "I see," said Samuel. "They make a great howl about the saloons an' all the rest," added the barkeeper.
An' he was studyin', too." "Ah! Studying what?" "Spanish." "Spanish, eh? Ever exhibit any interest in foreign tongues before?" "Not enough to get him through one term in college," returned the other grimly. "How did you know about his studying?" "Seen the perfessor in the house." "Some one you knew?" "No. I asked him. Roddy was sore because I found out what he was up to."
The perfessor won't let her fall acrost Henry. He ketches her. "Sit up, Jane," he says, with that Estelle look onto his face, "and let us have a talk." She looks at him with no more sense in her face than a piece of putty has got. But she can't look away from him. And I'm kind o' paralyzed, too.
Once over his fright, Washington made himself at home on the craft he had helped build. He went from one room to another and observed the engine. "She certainly am workin'" he observed with pride. "Are we still goin' up, Perfessor?" "Still mounting," replied Mr. Henderson, "We are now three hundred feet above the earth," he added as he glanced at a registering gage.
There Raish would suddenly and, in a tone of joyful surprise, quite as if they had not met for years, seize his hand, pump it up and down and ask concerning his health, the health of the Gould's Bluffs colony and the "news down yonder." Then, gazing blandly up the road at nothing in particular, he would add, speaking in a whisper and from the corner of his mouth: "Comin' along, Perfessor.
He's all hunched up and caved in and he's rubbing his eyes like he's jest woke up recent, and he's got a grin onto his face that makes him look like his sister Estelle looks all the time. "Excuse me," says the perfessor. They both swings around and faces him. I can hear my heart bumping. Jane never says a word. The man with the brown beard never says a word.
In our bunk-house three of the boys were about to turn into bed. They had worked hard all day, driving cattle into the home-pasture for the spring rodeo, and on the morrow they would have to work harder still, cutting out the steers and branding the calves. "Who is this Perfessor?" asked Dan. Jimmie, who was rubbing tallow on to his lariat, answered "There's a piece about him in the Tribune."
Is there any good books we ought to read? I used to pine for some o' that feller Shakespeare my father used to talk about so much, but Perfessor always 'lowed it was over my head!" It gave me quite a thrill to hear all this about Mifflin. I could readily imagine the masterful little man captivating the simple-hearted Pratts with his eloquence and earnestness.
But while scientifics is worrying to the nerves of a fambly, and while his labertory often makes the house smell like a sick drug store has crawled into it and died there, they wouldn't of been no serious row on between the perfessor and his wife, not ALL the time, if it hadn't of been fur Miss Estelle.
A back parlour, or a bedroom, or what?" I was thinking of how I happened to overhear Perfessor Booth and his fambly that-a-way. Martha says they is nothing like that to be tried. "Martha," I says, "this is serious. This here story they are thrashing out in there is the only derned sure-enough romanceful story either you or me is ever lible to run up against personal in all our lives.
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