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Armstrong, ma'am, do you mean to tell me you're goin' back to Luretta Smalley's because you think I don't want you to stay? Is that it, honest truth?" "Why, of course, it is. What else?" "And and 'tain't because you can't stand me any longer, same as Mother used to say?" "Can't stand you? Your mother used to say? What DO you mean, Mr. Winslow?"
Whoever possesses the Henry Irving Shakspeare, started originally by my dear old enthusiastic friend the late FRANK MARSHALL, and now concluded by the new volume of plays, poems, and sonnets, possesses a literary treasure. The notes are varied, interesting, and all valuable. The illustrations exactly serve their purpose, which is the highest praise. MR. SMALLEY'S Letters are not to an Inconnue.
He made the big mill that's up in our garret You haven't seen it yet, Uncle Charlie; it's going to be out on our lawn next spring and he gave it to me for a for a What kind of a present was that mill you gave me, Uncle Jed, that time when Mamma and Petunia and I were going back to Mrs. Smalley's because we thought you didn't want us to have the house any longer?" Jed looked puzzled.
Taylor was then to finish his account of the opening ceremonies and bring it or send it by the messenger to me at the telegraph office, the messenger waiting or returning for the first installment of Smalley's account of the imperial inspection, which he was to follow closely.
When Smalley's first dispatch had been put on, I saw Sauer coming again with his second. Then I sat tight and saw that the message had been written in columns of words on large paper, so that the counting should be rapid.
It had been on the tip of her tongue to say that she did not know what they could do with it. Their rooms at Mrs. Smalley's were not large. It was as if a dweller in a Harlem flat had been presented with a hippopotamus. The maker of the mill looked about him, plainly seeking a place to deposit his burden. "'Tisn't anything much," he said, hastily. "I I'm real glad for you to have it."
SMALLEY'S pen is dipped in just enough gall to make the writing pleasant to those who are not its topic. Personalities is the alluring title of the first volume, which contains forty-two studies of character. It is dangerous kind of work; but Mr. SMALLEY has skilfully steered his passage. They will take their place in Literature. November Number of the English Illustrated Magazine, excellent.
Jed was dreamily staring out of the window. He was smiling, a seraphic smile. Receiving no reply, Captain Sam angrily repeated his question. "Is it true?" he demanded. "No-o, no, I guess 'tisn't. I'd know better if I knew what he told you." "He told me that Mrs. Armstrong here was movin' back to Luretta Smalley's to-day. Jed Winslow, have you been big enough fool " Jed held up the big hand.
Jed did not offer to recover it; he scarcely seemed to know that it was gone. Instead he stood staring at the express driver, while the rain ran down his nose and dripped from its tip to his chin. "She she's goin' back to Luretta Smalley's?" he repeated. "She " He did not finish the sentence. Instead he turned on his heel and walked slowly back to the shop.
She eyed herself in the mirror anxiously, then looked down at Miss Smalley's nut-cracker face that was peering up at her, its lips pursed grotesquely over the pins. "Of course it is," mumbled Miss Smalley. "Everybody's clothes are too young for 'em nowadays.
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