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Updated: June 9, 2025
I never was afraid of Raish Pulcifer yet and I'm not now. Lulie, if you don't want to meet him, you might go into the sitting room." Lulie hesitated. "Well, perhaps I will," she said. "Father has told me a little about Well, I imagine Raish will be disagreeable and I don't feel like going through more disagreeableness just now. I'll wait in here till he goes, Martha."
Galusha, inspecting the prodigal's return one morning, observed: "Luce, when I first met you, you reminded me strongly of my Aunt Clarissa. The air of ah dignity and respectable disapproval with which you looked me over was much like hers. But now now, if you wore a hat on one side and an ah exuberant waistcoat, you would remind me more of Mr. Pulcifer."
The conversation, borne by the gusts, came to Galusha's ears clearly and distinctly. One of the speakers seemed to be explaining, urging, the other peremptorily refusing to listen. "But, Cap'n Jeth," urged the first voice, and Mr. Bangs recognized it as belonging to his obliging guide and pilot of the fateful Friday evening, Mr. Horatio Pulcifer. "But, Cap'n Jeth," said Mr.
There ain't anything crooked about it.... Why, what is it, Perfessor?" eagerly. "Changed your mind, have you?" Galusha's expression had changed, certainly. He looked queerly at Mr. Pulcifer, queerly and for an appreciable interval of time. There was an odd flash in his eye and the suspicion of a smile at the corner of his lips. But he was grave enough when he spoke. "Mr.
And yet, as she looked into her lodger's face, she was surprised at its expression. "Why, you never have heard of it, have you?" she demanded. Galusha stroked his chin. "That day in the cemetery," he murmured. "That day when I was ah behind the tomb and heard Captain Hallett and Mr. Pulcifer speaking. I may be mistaken, but it seems to me that they mentioned the name of ah ah "
And they tell me you like East Wellmouth so much you're goin' to stick around for a spell. Good business! Say, I'll be sellin' you a piece of Wellmouth property one of these days to settle down on. That's the kind of talk, eh, Perfessor? Haw, haw, haw!" He pounded the Bangs' shoulder blades once more. Mr. Beebe and his two customers echoed the Pulcifer laugh.
"Eh?" queried Galusha, peering out between the earlaps of his cap. "Eh? What did you say, Primmie?" "I say Miss Martha wants to see you a minute. She's in there a-waitin'. I bet you she's goin' to tell you about it. Hurry! hurry!" "Tell me?... About what?" "Why, about what 'tis that's worryin' her so. About that Raish Pulcifer and all the rest of it.... Oh, my Lord of Isrul!
Hall sent me that ah last June I think it was in June," explained Mr. Bangs, hurriedly. "But you SEE," he added, waving an agitated hand toward the gray-shingled dwelling beneath the silver-leafs, "that CAN'T be the house, not if" with a wave of the photograph in the other hand "if THIS is." Mr. Pulcifer took the postcard and stared at it. His brows drew together in a frown.
I must try now and reconsider the considering. Dear me, how involved I am getting! Never mind, we are going to win yet. Oh, I am sure of it." The distractions to which he referred were, of course, the recent and mysterious machinations of Raish Pulcifer. And he was to be again distracted that very afternoon.
Pulcifer's motto had always been: "Let the other feller do the worryin'." And, generally speaking, in a deal with Raish that, sooner or later, was what the other fellow did. The fog and dusk thickened, Mr. Pulcifer sang, and the flivver wheezed and rattled and splashed onward.
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