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Updated: June 12, 2025
Fred was a newspaper man, one of the submerged many, underpaid, overworked, unheard, yet vaguely gratified through all the long years by the feeling that his groove was not quite the groove of the office, the teller's desk, or the travelling salesman's "beat."
Then pretty soon she climbs into the Story Teller's lap and leans back, and looks into the fire and thinks some more. "Did the Hollow Tree people ever go to school?" she says. "I s'pose they did, though, or they wouldn't know how to read and write, and send invitations and things." The Story Teller knocks the ashes out of his pipe and lays it on the little stand beside him.
The bandaged hand waved jauntily over the Teller's head. "Ah, men," he said, almost clearly, and tried to lift himself on his arm, "I tell you it's a grand eleven we have this year! There will be little left of anything that stands against them. Did you see Jim Romley ride over his man this afternoon?"
"W'y, my dear, there is rather more sociability in a cue of depositors at the teller's window of an afternoon than there was at Mrs. Master's reception last winter." "Well, don't let's argue. I hate arguments of all things." "Most people do, when they get the worst of them," rejoined Hilbrough, merrily. "You are positively rude," pouted Mrs. Hilbrough, rising from the table.
Luther Meeker out of the rear room of the bank, when the latter went in to seek alms, as he said. He stood aside as I approached the teller's window, and the clerk handed out the papers to me, with a smile and some trifling remark. "When are you leaving, Mr. Trenholm?" asked the clerk.
"Nay, nay, kind sir! they do but show that each of us has his own way of telling a story, and that he who would hear a tale must let the teller's breath come out of his own nostrils." "Well, Essper, speak on! Stranger things have happened to me than to be reproved by my own servant."
But, I assure you, those of us who still believe in the influence of the best people don't like it." A point whence Wharton easily led her through a series of spiteful anecdotes bearing on her own social mishaps and rebuffs, which were none the less illuminating because of the teller's anxious effort to give them a dignified and disinterested air.
At that point Peleg appeared and asked Mr. Lenox a question which took the latter to the teller's counter. David sat for some time drumming on his desk with the fingers of both hands. A succession of violent coughs came from the front room. His mouth and brows contracted in a wince, and rising, he put on his coat and hat and went slowly out of the bank.
He had come to the Ridge from the South, from that part of the South that carried its pistol in its hip pocket and made a large and serious matter of its honour, that was obvious; he had paid Ezra Lane two thousand dollars for the Banner, that was a matter of record; and he had marched with some grandeur into General Hendricks' bank one Saturday and had clinked out five thousand dollars in gold on the marble slab at the teller's window, and that was a matter attested to by a crowd of witnesses.
He handed the check to Jimmy Holden. Jimmy took it quickly and left. He wanted to eye it happily, to gloat over it, to turn it over and over and to read it again and again; but he wanted to do it in private. He took it with him to the nearest bank, feeling its folded bulk and running a fingernail along the serrated edge. He re-read it in the bank, then went to a teller's window.
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