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Updated: May 27, 2025
Better give him a chance." The note was signed in David Pollard's well-known, scrawly handwriting. "I'm sorry you can't see Mr. Farnum tonight," said Benson, pleasantly. "He'll be here early in the morning, though." "When do you sail?" asked Truax, quickly. "That you would have to ask Mr. Farnum, too," smiled Jack. "But, see here, Mr. Pollard engaged me to work aboard one of your submarines."
"The 'andiest way," said the young coalheaver, after considering for half a minute, "an' the quietest, is for me to cast off the bow-straps here an' let her drop across stream. You can nip up through the garden yonder it don't belong to nobody just now. That'll bring you out into a place called Pollard's Row, an' you turn straight off on your right.
Saymore, the tailor's wife, was not invited, because her husband mended clothes. If he had confined himself strictly to making them, it would have put a different face upon the matter. The landlord of the Mountain House and his lady were invited to Mrs. Sprowle's party. Not so the landlord of Pollard's Tavern and his lady.
"McGuire knows perfectly well that I've done this. And because he knows that, and he knows that I know it, he'll strike in the opposite direction to Pollard's house. He'll never dream that I would go right back to Pollard and sit down under the famous nose of McGuire!" The dawn was brightening over the mountains above them, and the skyline was ragged with forest.
She reflected that if she read something she might coax her thoughts away from considerations which he could not understand in their entirety, and which terrified her when she thought that she did understand. In her quest she passed down the hall and to Pollard's office at the front of the house.
That was the color of the one which had been worn by my mysterious visitor, as I had found from subsequent questions put to my neighbor, and I could no longer have the least uncertainty as to who the woman was who had carried off Mr. Pollard's grandchild.
At odd times he looked over Jerry Pollard's books, and after dark he dunned several debtors for unpaid bills. He did it quietly and thoroughly, neither shirking nor overelaborating the minutest detail. There are men who have an immense capacity for taking pains that is rarer than genius, and he was one of them.
He was not thinking of his way, but the impulse of action had seized upon him, and he was walking down the ferment in his brain. He did not formulate the thought that with bodily fatigue would come mental indifference; he merely felt that when he was tired dead tired he would go home and sit down to dinner and face his father and discuss Jerry Pollard's terms.
"And you are really the nurse?" she asked, coming nearer and looking at me in the full glare of the gas. "Yes," I assured her, "really and truly the nurse." "Well, I don't understand it!" she cried. "I was always Mrs. Pollard's favorite maid, and I was with her when she was took, and would be with her now, but they won't let me set a foot inside the door.
It was straight into the town of Dead Man's Alley that the Kid's way led. The high sun glared down into a deserted street when he and Buck Thornton, a hundred yards behind him, passed by the Here's How saloon and the Brown Bear and at last drew rein at Henry Pollard's gate.
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