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Updated: June 20, 2025
"Why, you see, marm, Mis' Pettingill, up to th'East Quarter you know Mis' Pettingill?" "No," said Polly. "I do," roared Joel, forgetting his distress. "I know, Polly. She lives in a nice yellow house, and there's a duck-pond, and cherry trees." He pranced up to Mr. Biggs, smiling through his tears. "That's it," cried Mr. Biggs, delighted at being understood. "This boy knows."
Pettit came up out of Alabama to write fiction. The Southern papers had printed eight of his stories under an editorial caption identifying the author as the son of "the gallant Major Pettingill Pettit, our former County Attorney and hero of the battle of Lookout Mountain." Pettit was a rugged fellow, with a kind of shame-faced culture, and my good friend.
If it were not for the rest of us he'd be a pauper in six months." Paul Pettingill, to his own intense surprise and, it must be said, consternation, was engaged to redecorate certain rooms according to a plan suggested by the tenant.
But he thought he detected some contradiction in her eyes, and he was right. The girl was afraid of him, afraid of the sensations he awoke, afraid desperately of betrayal. "Pettingill may appeal to you," he said, and his voice was serious, "but you might at least be courteous to me." "How absurd you are, Monty Brewster." The girl grew hot.
Beneath the outward disapproval there was a secret admiration of the superb nerve of the man. And there was little reluctance to help him in the wild career he had chosen. It was so easy to go with him to the edge of the precipice and let him take the plunge alone. Only the echo of the criticism reached Brewster, for he had silenced Harrison with work and Pettingill with opportunities.
"This evening," said the chairman of the committee of arrangements, "this evening, fellow-citizens, there will be a grand display of fireworks on the village green, superintended by the inventor and manufacturer, our public-spirited townsman, Mr. Reuben Pettingill." Night closed in, and an immense concourse of people gathered on the village green.
Why, would you believe it, Mr. Pettingill, I began work in a cotton mill when I was eight years old, and I've lived in one ever since forty years! Sundays when I walk out in the fields I can't get the din out of my ears, and I told Susan, my old wife, the other day, that if I died before she did to have the lid screwed down extra tight so I could be sure of a little quiet."
He saluted hardly anybody except his entertainers and the Doctor. One would have said, to look at him, that he was not at the party by choice; and it was natural enough to think, with Susy Pettingill, that it must have been a freak of the dark girl's which brought him there, for he had the air of a shy and sad-hearted recluse. It was hard to say what could have brought Elsie Venner to the party.
"That man who calcimines your studio could figure on a piece of work with more intelligence than you reveal. I'll pay $2,500. It's only a fair price, and I can't afford anything cheap in this place." "At this rate you won't be able to afford anything," said Pettingill to himself.
Mr. Strout's ire was kindled when Hiram described the presents his children had received from Quincy. "Thank the Lord I've got money enough to buy my children's presents myself without dependin' on second-hand things that other folks don't want." "So've I," said Hiram, "but what I save that way I puts in the bank, for I'm bound to own the old Pettingill Place some day."
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