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Updated: May 14, 2025
McKettrick awoke suddenly to find that his men had not secured the site for his mills, and that, apparently, it could not be secured. He discussed the thing with Scattergood. "Prob'ly some old scissor bills that got a notion of hangin' on to their land," Scattergood said. "It can't be that, for the sales to the present owners were recent. The new owners refuse absolutely to sell."
There was one curious effect, which I need not take the trouble to describe because I can scissor a description of it out of the railway company's advertising pamphlet, and save my ink: "On the whole tour, particularly at the Descent, we undergo an optical illusion which often seems to be incredible.
"Pleasure!" exclaimed Teeters, who took the polite phrase literally. "More like you'll want to knock his head off. Old Timer," he leaned over the saddle horn, "seein' as you're from Missoury, I'll tell you private that you'd better keep on travelin'. Company ain't wanted at the Scissor Outfit, and they'd high-tone it over you so 'twouldn't be noways enjoyable."
The more Teeters had thought of Mormon Joe's assertion that, outside of stock, the chief asset of the country was its climate and its scenery, the more he had come to believe that Joe's advice to turn the Scissor outfit into a place for eastern tourists was valuable.
He does not scissor his way across, but bit by bit sinks the tip of one jaw, hook-like, into the surface, and brings the other up to it, slicing through the tissue with surprising ease. He stands upon the leaf, and I always expect to see him cut himself and his load free, Irishman-wise. But one or two of his feet have invariably secured a grip on the plant, sufficient to hold him safely.
"You hang on a while," Mormon Joe cautioned. "You may be boss of the Scissor Outfit yet stranger things have been waiting around the corner." Teeters shifted his weight in the saddle. "Say," he confessed in some embarrassment, "a sperrit told me somethin' like that only day 'fore yisterday.
And I tried to explain; but there are things that cannot be explained to the feminine mind, things perfectly clear to a man that you cannot make a woman see. Pigs, I told her, naturally go by pairs, like twins and scissors and tongs. They do better together, as scissors do. Nobody ever bought a scissor. Certainly not.
Cecil felt like the drowning woman when she gave the last scissor- like gesture with her fingers. She was ready to fall into a chair and cry. A sense of desolateness was very strong on her, and that look in his dark eyes had seemed to blast her. But pride came to her aid. Grindstone was moving about ready to dress her for dinner.
Madame Bovary senior was plying her scissor without looking up, and Charles, in his list slippers and his old brown surtout that he used as a dressing-gown, sat with both hands in his pockets, and did not speak either; near them Berthe, in a little white pinafore, was raking sand in the walks with her spade. Suddenly she saw Monsieur Lheureux, the linendraper, come in through the gate.
With his tongue in his cheek, literally, and perspiring like a blacksmith, Teeters sat at the table in the kitchen of the Scissor Ranch house, and by the flickering light of a candle in a lard can wrote letters to the heads of the Vanderbilt and Astor families, to the President and those of his Cabinet whose names he could remember.
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