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Updated: June 18, 2025
Once upon a time hungry Fox Lox was prowling about under a great tree on the hillside, when a chestnut burr fell thump upon his head. "Ah!" said cunning Fox Lox, "by this I will get a fine dinner." Just then along came Chicker Ricker. "Oh, run down hill with me where you will be quite safe, Chicker Ricker," cried Fox Lox, "for the sky is surely tumbling down!" "Who told you, Fox Lox?"
'Ricker from his drunken inactivity; I explained to him my apprehensions of a gale of wind, and the necessity for making preparation for the coming tempest. This brought him to his senses; and after grumbling somewhat at the loss of his liquor, and taking a deep draught of water, he entered with energy on the sphere of his duties. Ricker was a man of large stature and great physical strength.
"He still keeps me in the background, and plays at being editor, but he pays me pretty well." "Not too well, I hope." "I should like to see him try it." "I shouldn't," said Ricker. "He'd expect certain things of you, if he did. You'll have to look out for Witherby." "You mean that he's a scamp?" "No; there isn't a better conscience than Witherby carries in the whole city. He's perfectly honest.
Ricker and Kitton from all save her perfunctory office, until her voice and lips ceased their trembling. Poor little hostess, in her starched lawn which had seemed to her adequate for her unpretentious rôle of mother! All her humour and independence and self-possession had left her, and in their stead, on what was to have been her great night, had settled only the immemorial wistfulness.
But Mr. Ricker wouldn't print it." "He's very kind to you, Brice." "Yes, he's as kind as he dares to be. He's the oasis in the desert of my life; but the counting-room simoom comes along and dries him up, every now and then. Suppose I began my article by a study of the counting-room in independent journalism?" Mrs.
"Who didn't eat what?" Mrs. Ricker and Kitton asked listlessly. "I meant to keep track when the plates come out, but I didn't. Did they all take a-hold rill good?" "They wa'n't any mincin' 't I see," Mis' Holcomb-that-was-Mame-Bliss assured her. "Everything you had was lovely, an' everybody made 'way with all they got."
I've never made any secret of my belief that you have talent." "You've been very good," said Maxwell, a little rueful still. The surgeon's knife hurts though it cures. When Maxwell went home, he met his mother. "Why, mother," said the young fellow, "old Ricker is going to print my report as editorial; and we're not going to have any report." "I told you it was good!"
That salaried place which he was always seeking on the staff of some newspaper, proved not so easy to get as he had imagined in the flush of his first successes. Ricker willingly included him among the Chronicle-Abstract's own correspondents and special reporters; and he held the same off-and-on relation to several other papers; but he remained without a more definite position.
Bartley stared at him; he thought he must be joking. "Why, Ricker, what's the matter? I didn't suppose you'd care anything about old Kinney. I thought it would amuse you. Why, confound it! I'd just as soon write out and tell him that I did the thing." He began to be angry. "But I can cut your acquaintance fast enough, or any man's, if you're really on your ear!" "I'm on my ear," said Ricker.
Of course it owed much to the mere accident of Maxwell's accumulation of material about defalcations for his play; but he had known men break down under the mass of their material, and it surprised and delighted him to see how easily and strongly Maxwell handled his. That sick little youngster carried it all off with an air of robust maturity that amused as well as surprised Ricker.
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