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Updated: May 21, 2025
A metal stake, having a loop at the top from which fluttered a marker of red flannel, the man stuck upright in the ground. Tom took a peep, signaling so gently that the man moved the stake just half an inch before Reade's hand again fell. "That stake is right; go ahead," ordered Tom, but he said it not by word of mouth, but merely with a slight gesture of pushing forward.
"Right foot -high foot" had been one of their old kicking signals on the Gridley High School eleven! Lieutenant Dick Prescott fairly throbbed as he now understood the covered signal. "Now!" left Reade's lips with explosive energy, though the word was low-spoken. At "right foot -high foot" and "now" each youth suddenly shot his right foot up into the air.
"We'll soon have you out of that." Gripping the lariat with both bands, Tom gave a strong, sudden wrench and succeeded in drawing the imperiled man out of the sand a few inches. Then the poor fellow began to settle again moaning piteously as he saw a hideous death staring him in the face. Tom Reade's own face was deathly white from a realization of the other's peril.
Duncan, alert and suspicious, read the name "Colonial" in flaming letters, and learned from a larger sign that Miss Eleanor Forsythe and an all-star cast were appearing therein in a revival of Reade's "Masks and Faces." In the foyer Mrs. Coppered asked authoritatively for the manager. It was after ten o'clock, the curtain had risen on the last act, and a general opinion prevailed that Mr.
I wanted to mark that rascal with a suit of wet clothes, then run down in the street and collar him with his wet clothes on as a marker. But Dad called me back, and so I missed you. I heard the crowd after you, however. Did you get caught, Tom?" Reade's answer was something of a growl.
Let any one read the "Autobiography of Benvenuto Cellini," and then Charles Reade's picture of Mediaeval Roman life, if he wishes to appreciate the way in which Reade has collected his rough ore and has then smelted it all down in his fiery imagination. It is a good thing to have the industry to collect facts.
'That rotter, Reade, said Barrett, also of Philpott's, 'has been telling us that burglary chestnut of his all the morning. I wish you chaps wouldn't encourage him. 'Why, what was it? First I've heard of it, at any rate. Dallas and Vaughan, of Ward's, added themselves to the group. 'Out with it, Reade, said Vaughan. 'It's only a beastly reminiscence of Reade's childhood, said Barrett.
Nor was it until the next day that Tom Reade learned from Hazelton just what had caused the laborers to tumble out of their beds and rush into town to serve him. That night Tim Griggs had been prowling about the streets of Paloma, suspicious of Reade's enemies, and watching for the safety of the young chief engineer who had saved him from the savage appetite of the Man-killer quicksand.
When an author puts his name to a book he claims to have written all that there is therein, unless he makes direct signification to the contrary. Some years subsequently there arose another similar question, in which Mr. Reade's opinion was declared even more plainly, and certainly very much more publicly.
Prenter, with a spring, placed himself at Tom Reade's side. "Come on, men!" yelled the sallow-faced fellow. "Run dem w'ite slave-drivers outah camp!" yelled a score of negroes. Yells in Italian and Portuguese also filled the air. In an instant it was plain that Tom Reade had stirred up more than a hornet's nest. "Come on, Harry," spoke Tom, firmly. "Let's run this pair out of camp.
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