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Updated: June 5, 2025
"I might say it again, and then I mightn't," rejoined Mrs. Shrimplin, with aggravating composure. Two days later when the Shrimplins were at breakfast Mrs. Montgomery walked in on them. Her face was streaked with the traces of recent tears, but there was the light of happy vindication in her eyes, and a soiled and crumpled letter in her hand. "Mercy, Nellie!" exclaimed her sister.
Shrimplin further discovered that though the lamps were lit they were burning low, and he concluded that they had been lighted in the early dusk of the winter afternoon and that McBride, for reasons of economy, had deferred turning them up until it should be quite dark. "Well, I'm a poor man, but I couldn't think of them things like he does!" reflected Mr.
"Shrimplin was the only person you met as you crossed the Square?" "As far as I can remember now, I saw no one but Shrimp." "And just where did you meet him, North?" asked Moxlow. "On the corner, near McBride's store." "Do you know whether he had just driven into the Square or not?" "No, I, don't know that; it was snowing hard and I came upon him suddenly."
"That skunk Shrimplin says my old woman's been here," he faltered, "poisonin' your mind agin me!" A sickly grin relaxed his heavy jaws. "The Lord only knows what she expects of a man I dunno! The more I try, the worse she gets; nothin' satisfies her!" His breath, reeking of whisky, reached the judge. "This is all very well, Montgomery, but I have a word or two to say to you come into the house."
But she looked inquiringly at Mr. Shrimplin. Where the police were concerned she had faith in his masculine understanding; Joe had always seemed to know a great deal about the police, she remembered. "I reckon old Joe had his own reasons for skipping out, and they must have looked good to him. No, I can't see that you are bound to help the police; the police ain't helped you." And Mr.
On these occasions Mr. Shrimplin inclined to a certain sad conservatism as he discussed with his son those events of the week last passed which had left their impress on his mind. But what pleased Custer best was when his father, ceasing to be gently discursive and becoming vigorously personal, added yet another canto to the stirring epic of William Shrimplin.
Shrimplin shook his head dubiously as if he wished Custer to understand that after all perhaps he was not so sure it was for the best. "How were they different?" inquired Custer, sensible that his parent was falling into a reminiscent mood. "Well, they were more gay for one thing; folks drove in from miles about and brought their lunches and et fried chicken.
Custer was wholly and delightfully sympathetic. There was, he felt, the very choicest inspiration in the narrative, always growing and expanding, of his father's earlier career, before Mrs. Shrimplin came into his life, and as Mr. Shrimplin delicately intimated, tied him hand and foot.
"Am I to understand that he has deserted you?" questioned the judge. "No, I can't say that, for he sends his clothes home for me to wash and mend." "Ain't that the human sufferin' limit?" gasped Mr. Shrimplin. "I suppose you wash and mend them?" And the judge smiled faintly. "Of course," admitted Mrs. Montgomery simply. "Does he contribute anything toward your support?" asked the judge.
"I don't know, I'm in most infernal pain," said Langham slowly. "Do you think we can lift him?" asked Shrimplin. "The judge don't seem to be at home." "Your boy would better go to my uncle's; Judge Langham may be there," said Watt. And Custer promptly slid out of the cart and sped off up the street. Langham met the delay with grim patience.
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