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Updated: June 13, 2025
"You were in there such a long time, I made sure there was something doing." Laura shrugged her shoulders impatiently: "Quiller sent for me, and I hurried here thinking it was serious. Then he had the nerve to say he'd guarantee me an engagement, if I could put up five hundred dollars. I could not help laughing. 'Where would I get five hundred dollars? I said.
"An' he wanted to know what we did with little Quiller when he cried." I thought I should die of the intolerable shame. I had cried blubbered away as though I were a red-cheeked little girl in a clean calico petticoat. After the dead line which Ump had crossed for him with the brutal frankness that went along with his dwarfed body, Jud continued with his report.
It is true that the level of writing in the Free Press is very much higher than in the Official Press. To read Shaw or Wells or Gilbert or Cecil Chesterton or Quiller Couch or any one of twenty others in the "New Witness" is to be in another world from the sludge and grind of the official weekly. But the boycott is rigid and therefore the supply is intermittent.
"Quiller," he said slowly, "we're gone up unless we can swim the drove across, an' it's a hell of a risky job. Do you see that big eddy?" and he pointed his finger to the middle of the Valley River where the yellow water swung around in a great circle. "If the steers bunched up in that hole, they'd drown like rats." I looked at the wide water and it scared me.
Merefleet pushed away his plate and sat with fixed eyes, fascinated by the rosy vision. They were side by side in a fishing-smack, he and the playmate of his childhood. There was an old fisherman in charge with grizzled hair, whose name, he recollected without effort, was Quiller. He was showing the little maid how to tie a knot that was warranted never to come undone.
For here was Cynthia, as composed as the October afternoon, and here was I stammering and red. "Quiller!" she pealed, "what a little savage! Do look!" And she put her grey glove on her companion's arm. Woodford clapped his hand on his knee, and broke out into a jeering chuckle. "Why!" he said, "it's little Quiller. I thought it must be some bold, bad robber."
"Quiller," he piped, with the long echo still whining in his throat, "that whistle fooled you an' it fooled Jud, but it wouldn't fool a Bob White with the shell on its back. When the old bird hears it, she don't wait to see the long shadow travellin' on the grass, but she hollers, 'Into the weeds, boys, if you want to save your bacon. An' you ought to see the little codgers scatter.
And old Quiller, the fisherman, removed his sou'wester from his snowy head and peered at the visitor from under his hand. "You don't know me, eh, Quiller?" Merefleet said. He was surprised to hear a high voice from the interior of the cottage break in on the old man's hesitating reply. "He's a sort of walking monkey-puzzle, I guess," said the voice, and a roguish laugh followed the words.
"If I had such men," he said, "I wouldn't be here pulling down a bridge. Your brother, Quiller, is in great luck. With such men, I could twist the cattle business around my finger. But when one has to depend upon a lot of numbskulls, he can expect to come out at the little end of the horn." I began to see that this Woodford, under some lights, might be a very sensible and a very pleasant man.
"Quiller," he said, "it's hard to guard against a liar, but I do not believe there was ever a time when I would have refused you these cattle. Your brother has done me more than one conspicuous kindness. I would trust him for the cattle if he did not own an acre." "Mr. Marsh," I said, "what lie did Woodford tell you?" "I was told," he replied, "that Mr.
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