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Updated: May 21, 2025
It was a very determined little woman who stole out of the Stanlock residence, with the contents of the last threatening letter fresh in her memory, after the return of the members of Flamingo Camp Fire from their Sunday afternoon drive. She walked briskly four blocks east and boarded a street car. A twenty-minutes' ride took her into the heart of the mining tenement district.
"Do you know, I found myself wondering several times if Clifford wouldn't bring some of those boys down here some time during the holidays." Mr. Stanlock laughed, but he would have given a good deal to be able to recall the noise he made. It was really a noise, as he must have admitted himself, and so hollow as to indicate something decidedly unlike spontaneous amusement.
In a moment it would have been difficult for any one of those present to realize how tragically serious they had all been a few minutes before. After the chorus of laughter had subsided, Mr. Stanlock sat down in a large upholstered armchair, and remarked to his unconsciously brilliant son: "You are a great protector of women-oppressed man, aren't you, Harold.
One glance at his face was sufficient guarantee that he had lost all his punning facetiousness. He held in his hand a bit of paper which he laid on the stone table by the lamp. "Read that, boys!" he exclaimed, excitedly. "I found it outside. Those men must have dropped it. They're after Mr. Stanlock going to hold him up." The ten other boys needed no second bidding.
"Now, Johnson, you go upstairs and inform the other men what we are doing. We don't want them down here, for there's nothing they can do. Moreover, we don't want any more traveling up and down those steps than is absolutely necessary. Be careful, Johnson, on your way up." "Excuse me, lieutenant," interposed Mr. Stanlock in a weak voice that bespoke the distress under which he was laboring.
"What do you think of these letters?" Marion asked, handing the two anonymous missives to her father. "I received them by mail at the Institute last night, but neglected to read them until we were all on the train this morning." As Mr. Stanlock read them, his brow contracted sternly.
Stanlock said, concernedly. "They ought to be very careful. It will be getting dark before very long. It's cloudy and looks like more snow. How long have they been gone?" "About half an hour," Kittie answered. "I went out to the drug store to get something for my toothache, and when I came back they was gone." This was the first reference that Mrs.
Presently something in the pile of lumber held the attention of the lieutenant, who began to examine it more closely. "Look here," he said, addressing Mr. Stanlock. "Do you see any difference between this pile of lumber and that dry goods box over there?"
He was about decided to return home with the driver and say nothing to him about the note, when a slight noise at the entrance attracted the attention of all. Listening carefully, they could hear the sound of retreating footsteps. "That's Jake," Mr. Stanlock exclaimed. "He overheard us. After him, or he'll run away with the machine."
Hunter's farm." "In a cave!" Mr. Stanlock exclaimed with some concern. "Isn't that rather an unhealthful place for you to live? You don't sleep there, I hope?" "We certainly do, uncle; or, rather, we are going to, for this is our first night. I wish you could come over and see it. It's as dry and warm as can be. Paul dried it out by keeping a stove burning in it for several days."
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