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Updated: May 12, 2025
But she was seeing nothing just at that moment, save Martha, who, to her amazement, stood ready to receive her in the inner hall. "Ain't it just grand?" inquired Mrs. Slawson. "They told me yesterday, 'all things bein' equal, they'd maybe leave us back soon, but I didn't put no stock in it, knowin' they never is equal.
I couldn't make Radcliffe respect my authority, if I depended on some one else to enforce it. It's just one of those cases where one has to fight one's own battle alone." "Then it is a battle?" Martha inquired quietly. "O, it's a battle, 'all right," laughed Claire mirthlessly, and before Mrs. Slawson could probe her further, she managed to make her escape.
On one side, very likely, is a Russian Jew just from the Steppes; on the other, a negro with centuries of heathendom and slavery hinting themselves in lip and eye; the driver is a Fenian, with the blood of the Phoenicians in his veins; in front of you is a gentleman with the unmistakable Huguenot nose, and chin; while an almond-eyed pagan, disguised behind moustache and eye-glasses, courteously takes your fare and drops it for you in the Slawson box.
I've only been waiting here, to talk with you and know you're safe. In five minutes I'll be on my way, with the racing-car. And if I don't break a few records between here and Haverstraw, my name's not Isaac Flint!" After an affectionate good-bye, the old man hung up, rang for Slawson, his private valet, and ordered the swiftest car in his garage made ready at once, for a quick run.
Slawson, I won't feel so, an' here now see if you can clear up this tray so clean it'll seem silly to wash the dishes." For a moment there was silence in the little room, while Claire tried to compose herself, and Martha pretended to be busy with the tray.
"an' her stockin' fixin' to come down any min'ute!" "Ah, Martha, good-morning!" At the first sound of his voice Mrs. Slawson recovered her poise. That wouldn't-call-the-queen-your-cousin feeling came over her again, and she was ready to face the music, whatever tune it might play.
Slawson," interposed the boarding-house keeper with a wry smile, bridling with the sense that she was about to say something she considered rather neat, "I am, as you might say, holding her bag and baggage as security." "Now what do you think o' that!" ejaculated Martha Slawson. "It's quite immaterial to me what anybody thinks of it," Mrs. Daggett snapped.
Sammy Slawson, an' I come to see you on a little matter of business connected with a young lady who's been lodgin' in your house Miss Lang." Mrs. Daggett stepped forward, and unlatched the iron gate. "Come in," she said, in a changed voice, endeavoring to infuse into her acrid manner the grace of a belated hospitality.
Martha stroked the damp hair away from his temples with her powdery hand. "Well, well!" she said reflectively. "Now, what do you think o' that!" "O, Martha I can't stand it! You an' the children! It's more than I can bear!" Mrs. Slawson gave the head against her breast a final pat that, to another than her husband, might have felt like a blow. "More'n you can bear?
"I didn't know before, you were a flatterer, Martha. But I see you're a lineal descendant of the Blarney Stone." Claire felt herself utterly ignored. She tried again to slip away, but Martha's strong hand detained her, bore her down into the place she had just vacated. "How is Francie?" inquired Mr. Ronald, taking the chair Mrs. Slawson placed for him. "Fine thank you, sir.
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