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"Thanks," said George limply. "And you, Mr. Sturgis, you must redouble your efforts. You must search the land; you must scour the sea to find George Lattaker." "He needn't take all that trouble," said a voice from the gangway. It was Voules. His face was flushed, his hat was on the back of his head, and he was smoking a fat cigar. "I'll tell you where to find George Lattaker!" he shouted.
They were in the middle of the street, and Ken chose to focus his attention on the traffic. "Let's get to the lunch place," he said. "It's quieter there, to talk." "Still wearing that old suit, dear?" Mrs. Sturgis said, touching Ken's sleeve as he hung up his overcoat in the restaurant. "Er this is my good suit," Ken murmured. "That is, it's the only suit I have that is " "See here," said Mrs.
None the less for Calliope had drunk deep of the wine of doing and she never gave up any project at four o'clock on the day before Christmas I saw the closed 'bus driven by Jimmy Sturgis fare briskly past my house on its way to the "start of the Plank Road," to the Old Ladies' Home.
I find myself that, for character sketching, next to studying people from life, the best thing is to carefully go through the writings of such people as Alfred de Musset, whose little caprices are so delicate. I think that the best Society novelists at present, who write with a real knowledge of the people they are describing, are W. E. Norris, Julian Sturgis, and Rhoda Broughton."
"Not everyone is as keen as you are, my boy," said the Sage, dipping gratefully into his hot drink. "If they were, the world would be a better place, and we should hear less of all this modern unrest." "I am pretty keen," admitted the young man. "I have only encountered one man whom I could describe as keener. I allude to Mortimer Sturgis."
"Why were you going in exactly the opposite direction, then?" Ken demanded. As he leaped abreast of the man, who was trying to back away, the day's receipts of the Sturgis Water Line jingled loudly in his trousers pocket.
My boy!" I cried. "What's the matter?" "Weren't you giving yourself rather a large family?" He shook his head moodily. "Was I?" he said, dully. "I don't know. What's bogey?" There was a silence. "And yet " he said, at last, in a low voice. He paused. An odd, bright look had come into his eyes. He seemed suddenly to be himself again, the old, happy Mortimer Sturgis I had known so well.
Hoyt was the enthusiast of the party, and it was his ambition to kill a deer, although the inhumane act was prohibited at that season of the year. Our leading guide was called Aaron Burr Sturgis. Thursday evening Hoyt insisted upon going out deer hunting upon the lake. Burr took charge of him. Hoyt had a shot, but missed the deer. Friday evening the effort was renewed with the same result.
Sturgis was a born match maker, Buck was like a son to her motherly heart, Winifred Waverly was the "sweetest little thing" she had ever seen, and they had in them the making of such a couple as Mrs. Sturgis couldn't find every day of the week. "Go 'long with you, Buck Thornton!" she cried, making a monumental failure of the frown with which she tried to draw her placid brows.
I directed Sturgis to take two regiments from Ferrero's brigade, which had not been engaged, and make a column by moving them together by the flank, the one left in front and the other right in front, side by side, so that when they passed the bridge they could turn to left and right, forming line as they advanced on the run.
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