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Updated: May 25, 2025
The man on the outside grinned, stared at John a moment, and went out, and Timson turned and said, as John came forward, "Hello! The old man picked ye to pieces all he wanted to?" "We are through for the day, I fancy," said our friend, smiling, "and if you are ready to begin my lessons I am ready to take them. Mr. Harum told me that you would be good enough to show me what was necessary."
The younger man returned the look and smiled slightly. David laughed outright. "I guess you've seen folks before," he remarked. "I have never met any one exactly like Mr. Timson, I think," said our friend with a slight laugh. "Fortunitly them kind is rare," observed Mr.
"At it again, M.! You know you're simply working yourself stupid." Thus speaking, Miss Timson, known to her intimates at Ascham as "Tims," wagged sagely her very peculiar head. A crimson silk handkerchief was tied around it, turban-wise, and no vestige of hair escaped from beneath. There was in fact none to escape.
They went out, and as he led his own bicycle towards the upper track, Tims spun down the steep drive, and, turning into the lane, kissed her hand to him in farewell from under the brim of her perennially crooked hat. "That Timson girl's more than queer," he mused to himself, going on. "There's a streak of real insanity in her.
"The day before Whitmore started for prison the trust fund was established and the interest began to accumulate for Timson. So that on the day he leaves prison, he'll have ten thousand dollars with which to begin to enjoy life." "That is, if he is not sent away for ten years for aiding and abetting the escape of Whitmore, alias Travis," interrupted the chief.
Lady Thomson could hardly control her indignation, but she did, although she spoke sternly to Tims. "Do I understand you to say, Miss Timson, that it's a 'solemn Gospel fact' Gospel! Good Heavens that Milly is possessed by a devil?" Tims plumped down on the sofa and stared at Lady Thomson. "Possessed by a devil? Good Lord, no! What do you mean?"
"I came up yesterday," admitted John. "My name's Timson," said Chet. "Happy to meet you," said John, rising and putting out his hand. "My name is Lenox," and they shook hands that is, John grasped the ends of four limp fingers. After they had subsided into their seats, Chet's opaquely bluish eyes made another tour of inspection, in curiosity and wonder.
When John went back to the office after the noonday intermission it was manifest that something had happened to Mr. Timson, and that the something was of a nature extremely gratifying to that worthy gentleman. He was beaming with satisfaction and rustling with importance.
F'm what the doc said, an' f'm what I c'n see, you got to git out o' this dum'd climate," waving his hand toward the window, against which the sleet was beating, "fer a spell; an' as fur 's the office goes, Chet Timson 'd be tickled to death to come on an' help out while you're away, an' I guess 'mongst us we c'n mosey along some gait.
It would utterly unfit me for my work." He did not add that he had been looking forward to receiving helpful counsel from Mildred, with her clear common-sense, seasoned with wit. Tims wagged her head and stared in his face. "Poor old M.!" she ejaculated, slowly. Miss Timson still possessed the rare power of irritating Ian Stewart. He grew restive. "I suppose I am a selfish brute.
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