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Updated: June 5, 2025
Symes's now fashionable Thursday "At Home." It was the first of the coveted cards which Mrs. Terriberry had received and Dr. Harpe took care to adroitly convey the information that the invitation was due to her, and Mrs. Terriberry was correspondingly grateful. "You can't afford to keep her; you simply can't afford it, Mrs. Terriberry," Dr. Harpe had whispered earnestly in a confidential corner.
"He needs my money, but if more pressure is necessary," she sniggered at the recollection of Mr. Terriberry's sentimental leanings "I can spend an hour with him in the light of the 'meller moon." Again Dr. Harpe was right. Mr. Terriberry needed the money, also his fears took instant alarm at the thought of losing so popular and influential a guest, one, who, as he told Mrs.
Terriberry avoided her eyes; it was even harder than she had anticipated. Why hadn't she let "Hank" Terriberry tell her himself! Mrs. Terriberry was one of that numerous class whose naturally kind hearts are ever warring with their bump of caution. She was sorry now that she had been so impulsive in telling him all that Dr. Harpe had whispered over the afternoon tea at Mrs.
It could not be because Van Lennop had resented his patronage and his vaporings to any such extent as this; he was not that kind. No; he had been touched deeper than his pride or any petty vanity. Another question like an answer to his first flashed through his mind. Could it be was it possible that his attentions to Essie Tisdale, the biscuit-shooter of the Terriberry House, had been sincere?
That his fears were not unfounded was shortly made evident by the appearance of Sylvanus Starr with a bland, bucolic smile upon his wafer-like countenance and his scant foretop tied in a baby-blue ribbon which had embellished the dainty ham sandwiches provided by Mrs. Terriberry.
Terriberry who, while playfully endeavoring to snatch his wife from the editor's encircling arms, accidentally stepped on the train of her black satin skirt. There was a popping, ripping sound! In the brief but awful second while this handsome creation slid to the floor, Mrs. Terriberry stood panic-stricken in a short, red-flannel petticoat.
Louis," she wrote boldly upon the bethumbed register of the Terriberry House. The loungers in the office studied her signature earnestly but it told them nothing of that which they most wished to know her business.
Van Lennop was human; and, after all, as she was forced to recognize more and more fully, she was only the pretty biscuit-shooter of the Terriberry House. Essie Tisdale pushed the swinging doors from her with a shaking hand and managed somehow to get back into the kitchen where, as she thought, with a strange, new bitterness, she belonged. Van Lennop did not leave Dr.
Terriberry buried his face in his highly perfumed handkerchief as he confessed his wife's shortcomings. "Aw, dry up! Take another and forget it," replied his unsympathetic confidante crossly. Mr. Terriberry looked up in quick cheerfulness. "Le's do, Doc. Do you know I hate water just plain water. If it'll rot your boots what'll it do to your stummick!"
"That's so," Mr. Terriberry agreed heartily, "there's something damned respectable about a church. It makes a good impression upon strangers to come into a town and hear a church bell ringin', even if nobody goes. Doc, you're all right," he patted her shoulder approvingly; "you're a rough diamond; you can put me down for $50." When Mr. Terriberry had gone his pious way, Dr.
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