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But, face working, eyes blazing, Old Man Thornycroft started forward, and the dog, panting, shrank between boy and mother. "Jim Kirby!" cried the old man, stopping for a moment in the cleared space. "You're magistrate. What you say goes. But that dog thar he's mine! He's my property mine by law!" He jerked a piece of rope out of his overcoat pocket and came on toward the cowering dog.
"Any of you gentlemen care to take a look?" he asked. "It was worse than that," declared Davy, "till I rubbed vase-leen on it." Old Man Thornycroft pushed forward, face quivering. "What's all this got to do with the boy stealin' the dog?" he demanded. "That's what I want to know what's it got to do?" "Mr.
Thornycroft," said Kirby, "at nine o'clock this mornin' this place ceased to be Tom Belcher's sto', an' become a court of justice. Some things are seemly in a court, some not. You stand back there!" The old man stepped back to the counter, and stood julling his chin, his eyes running over the crowd of faces. "Davy Allen," spoke Mr. Kirby, "you stand back there with your ma.
Thornycroft, she felt, more than once, how much merrier they would have been with the elder than the younger brother. Also for Agatha was a conscientious girl she thought, seriously, what a pity it was that so pleasant and kind a man as Major Harper had such an unfortunate habit of forgetting his promises.
Mr Thornycroft had been ailing with his asthma so long, and making so little fuss about it, that his friends had come to regard him as practically ailing nothing. The death that had slowly stalked him for years came upon them with the shock of the unexpected; so the newspapers said.
Thornycroft paused in his inspection to watch the newcomer. He was a young man of singular confidence, who talked so very loudly to the officer who accompanied him that the two men by the machine felt themselves included in the conversation long before they could make themselves audible in reply. "Hello hello," said Mr. Theodore Mann, "what's wrong eh?"
She sat alone in Miss Bowen's dressing-room, playing with the orange-wreath. Her face wore a thoughtful, sickly, sad look, but the moment she heard some one at the door this expression vanished. "So, my dear, you have a rather unconscionable bridegroom, Mrs. Thornycroft tells me. He has been here already." Suddenly all that had happened recurred to Agatha.
Davy, still watching him, felt his mother's grip on his arm. Everyone was listening so closely that the whispered sneering comment of Old Man Thornycroft to the man next to him was audible, "What's all this got to do with the case?" "The p'int I'm gettin' to is this," went on Mr. Kirby, not paying attention to him: "a dog is not like a cow or a horse or any four-footed critter.
He had heard people talk about it at the time, and he remembered how white his mother's face had been. Old Man Thornycroft had refused to wait, and his mother had had to sell five acres of the best land on the little farm to pay the note. It was after the sale that Mr. Kirby, who lived five miles away, had ridden over. "Why didn't you let me know, Mrs. Allen?" he had demanded. "Or Steve Earle?
"Any of you gentlemen care to take a look?" he asked. "It was worse'n that," declared Davy, "till I rubbed vase-leen on it." Old Man Thornycroft pushed forward, face quivering. "What's all this got to do with that boy stealin' that dog?" he demanded. "That's what I want to know what's it got to do?" "Mr.
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