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Updated: June 12, 2025
Sherman, the proprietor, bustling out, Jake Wheeler beside him; a chorus of "How be you, Jethros?" from the more courageous there, but the farm team jogs on, leaving a discomfited gathering, into the side street, up an alley, and into the cool, ammonia-reeking sheds of lank Jim Sanborn's livery stable.
The boy was in some doubt as to the wisdom or the utility of calling Sanborn's attention to the latter's bad habits, but having embarked on his admonition he was not going to quit just because the man was surly. "When are you going to go up?" asked Sanborn, changing the subject abruptly.
"Well, Luther Barr's found a way to make this particular crank pay," was the reply. "That's so. Well, good-night. Oh, say what was the name of the man who planned the Buzzard?" "Oh, Eben something let's see Eben it began with a J. I've got it Eben Joyce, that's it Eben Joyce." "Queer name that Eben Joyce," was Sanborn's comment. "Well, good-night." "Good-night. You won't fail us."
As the words left his lips a cry of horror broke from all on the dirigible's deck who were watching Sanborn's struggles. A great arm, covered with mouths, like the ones the boys had seen absorb the rats, shot out of the sea. Another and another followed it, and hapless Sanborn, screaming in terror, was dragged from the structure of the aeroplane, to which he clung with a drowning man's clutch.
This was the first part: the second consisted of the scene from the "Two Buzzards" already mentioned, and for the third a witty dialogue about Mr. Sanborn's school. As more than half of the audience was composed of Mr. Sanborn's pupils this charade produced a great effect.
His eyes fairly burned in his head as he listened and a half-formed resolve entered his mind. There might be other persons who would be interested in learning of the treasure ship which Sanborn's greedy mind already had regarded as a reality.
Here we read Captain Charles King's stories of life at military posts, Sanborn's "Biography of Bronson Alcott," and Lecky's "History of Rationalism." Here I visited Charles A. Dana, the Nestor of journalism, and his charming family. He lived on a beautiful island near Glen Cove.
Sanborn's young men held him in high regard, and when, in 1860, the United States marshals tried to carry him off by force to testify at Washington in regard to the Harper's Ferry invasion, they all rushed to his rescue, and foremost among them a Baltimore boy, who had been cursing his teacher as an infernal abolitionist for the previous six months. Mr.
"I look to you to make that information worth my while," put in Sanborn's rasping tones. "And I will," cried old Barr, clapping his withered hands together. "You shall be well rewarded, never fear. But now about your purchase in Boston how much did she cost?" "Twelve thousand dollars," was the cool reply of the speaker, whose voice Billy had recognized as being that of Malvoise.
Neither did the next week nor the next see her there. Furthermore, though the little stand in her room had shown two new picture puzzles and a new game especially designed for the blind, it displayed them no longer after those remarks of Mazie Sanborn's. Not that Keith had them, however. Indeed, no.
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