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Updated: May 21, 2025
"I'd like a story where somebody lived once in awhile." "I've told you heaps of stories where people lived," retorted the Story Girl. "If this heroine hadn't died there wouldn't have been any story. She was Miss Reade's aunt and her name was Una, and I believe she must have been just like Miss Reade herself. Miss Reade told me all about her.
"I appoint you to do my full share in stopping a stampede of cattle." Reade's face had suddenly grown very grave as he now realized that the trees were not stopping the frenzied cattle. Dick, who had been thinking, suddenly wheeled, making a break for the supplies. "Get a box of matches, each one of you!" he shouted. "Then sprint with me for that patch of sun-baked grass just north of us."
As he spoke, he moved the muzzle close to Reade's face. "Hello!" muttered Tom, blinking rather hard. "Hello yourself. That's talking enough for you to do," snapped the bully. "Was that the thing you hit me over the head with at the finish?" inquired the young engineer curiously. "Careful! You're expected to think not talk," leered his captor.
Reade's grewsome medico in "Hard Cash," a personation meant, I suppose, to present to the public a certain irregular London doctor, but which, to the minds of most physicians, reads like an elaborate advertisement of the man in question.
"To the best of my belief," said Tom, "an assay is as much unable to figure as it is to read." "Don't waste any more time on the kid, Dolph," growled another of the group. "He won't tell you anything that you want to know." "If he doesn't" rejoined Gage, "maybe he'll miss something. See here -Reade's your name, isn't it?"
In this month I devoured all the 'Waverley novels, but I must have been devouring a great many others, for Charles Reade's 'Christie Johnstone' is associated with the last moment of the last days.
Command me whenever you think I can be of an atom of use to you." Charles Reade's letters were always highly characteristic of him. In these he mentally photographed himself, for he always wrote with candid unreserve, whether to friend or foe, and he liked to talk with the pen.
"Wha-at's wa-anted?" came Reade's hail, still from a distance. "Hurry up!" yelled Greg. "Hustle. Big doings here!" "Have you found a boat?" came Tom's query. "No! But -hustle! Run!" Greg was alive with curiosity. He could not wait. If the box were to be opened only after a pow-wow, then the sooner the council were held the sooner the mystery of the box's contents would be solved.
Surely, he could not embarrass the girl, nor could he seem to refuse to add to her fortune by any means within his power. Don Luis had brought about the climax with great cleverness, for he felt certain of Tom Reade's gallantry. And gallant Tom Reade ever was. Yet he was keen and self-possessed as well. While he held the pen in his hand be turned to the Mexican with one of his pleasantest smiles.
Reade's enchanting offers to drive us around the beautiful place, to show me the fine beaches, and his quarters, and all other points of interest in this old town of Southern California. Arizona, not San Diego, was my destination, so we took a hasty breakfast at the hotel and boarded the stage, which, filled with passengers, was waiting before the door.
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