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Then would come the familiar scenes about old Fort Reynolds; then the wild and picturesque beauty of Squaw Cañon and Hatch's Cove, and then George Graham would be able to judge by surface indications how far his disguise had really disguised him. Toomey had already told him where Nolan and Feeny could be found.
And even now as they stood there, he and Toomey, exchanging at intervals some low-toned words at the switch, the eastward skies were slowly taking on their early morning garb of pink and violet, the eastward fronts of the snow-sifted peaks and domes far to the north and south were lighting up with wondrous hues of gold and crimson; the stars aloft were paling and the moon was sinking low, and still big 705 stood hissing and grumbling placidly on the long siding, and the green lights back at the caboose blinked sleepily against the dawn.
Toomey, "what have you been doing with yourself?" "Priscilla Prissy " Mrs. Toomey caught her breath "I've been miserable and that's the truth!" "Why, my dear!" The egg-beater stopped. "Aren't you well? No wonder I'm as nervous as a witch myself." The egg-beater whirred again encouragingly. "You must use your will power you mustn't allow yourself to be affected by these external things."
It's a safe bet that this cross roads can't see me for dust, once I get that commission in my mitt." He turned and looked at her sharply. "What's the matter now, Mrs. Kill-joy? Where's it hurting the worst?" Mrs. Toomey continued to powder the red tip of her nose until it showed pink. "You're about as cheerful as an open grave takes all the heart out of me just to look at your face.
Toomey, who was standing at the dining room table laying a section of a newspaper pattern upon a piece of serge, felt an uncontrollable desire to weep. Furthermore, the conviction seized her that, turn and twist the pattern as she might, she was not going to have material enough unless she pieced. Her lids turned pink and her eyes filled up. "Isn't it awful, Jap, to think of us being like this?"
In their exchange of glances she now caught a sympathetic flash; then he rose immediately and came over. "May I be of service, brother?" As he spoke he indicated the small button he wore which corresponded to another on Toomey's waistcoat. With a slight inclination of the head towards Mrs. Toomey, "If you'll allow me " The relieved waiter promptly fled with the note he laid on the plate.
"It's not the wind." Mrs. Toomey's eyes were swimming now. "I'm worried half to death." Mrs. Pantin had not lived twelve years with Abram in vain. A look of suspicion crossed her face, and there was a little less solicitude in her voice as she inquired: "Is it anything in particular? Bad news from home?" "It's money!" Mrs. Toomey blurted out. "We're dreadfully hard up.
Toomey. We'd like your advice." Toomey refused curtly. "Get that order out at once," he said peremptorily, as he drove off. No invitation cordial or otherwise was extended to Mormon Joe, so it was upon his own initiative that he stumbled into the room where the Boosters Club was in session that evening.
"How very extraordinary!" Miss Rathburn observed languidly. "Plucky, I call it," Disston answered. "They've named her the 'Sheep Queen of Bitter Crick." Toomey laughed disagreeably. "It's curious you've never mentioned her, Hughie, when you've told us about everyone else in the country." "I didn't think you'd be interested, Beth," he answered stiffly.
Toomey had noted were in evidence when she wished particularly to have her position appreciated, the hostess, while expressing her pleasure, sought for the real purpose of the visit. Ostensibly admiring Mrs. Pantin's new coiffure, she thought, bridling, "Perhaps she's come to find out how we're managing since Mr. Pantin refused us." Yet Mrs.
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