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Updated: May 2, 2025
Winter had regarded him in stony surprise. At last she said: "Come in! I'll see my husband." She bolted into the house. Trescott entered the hall, and turned to the left into the sitting-room. Presently Winter shuffled through the door. His eyes flashed towards Trescott. He did not betray any desire to advance far into the room. "What do you want?" he said. "What do I want?
In the background of the group old Judge Hagenthorpe was thoughtfully smoothing the polished ivory head of his cane. Trescott loudly stamped the snow from his feet and shook the flakes from his shoulders. When he entered the house he went at once to the dining-room, and then to the sitting-room. Jimmie was there, reading painfully in a large book concerning giraffes and tigers and crocodiles.
If his portrait, by Stanley Wood, is a faithful likeness, the influence of his presence is not to be wondered at. "Constance Trescott," by Dr. S. Weir Mitchell, Century Company, stands out among the stronger books of the season.
Hannigan cast a piercing glance over the group, stared with a bitter face at the Trescott house, as if this new and handsome edifice was insulting her, and then followed her son. There was wavering in the party. An inroad by one mother always caused them to carefully sweep the horizon to see if there were more coming. "This is my yard," said Jimmie, proudly. "We don't have to go home."
Trescott's voice began to bubble. "Up up up " She pointed at the second-story windows. Hannigan was already shouting: "Don't go in that way! You can't go in that way!" Trescott ran around the corner of the house and disappeared from them. He knew from the view he had taken of the main hall that it would be impossible to ascend from there.
Trescott was greatly pleased with this new view of his character. He diverted her mind, and relieved the monotony of her grief. It was clearly no affair of mine. Nevertheless, after several experiences in finding Cornish talking with Josie by the Trescott grate, I considered Jim's interests menaced. "Well," said Alice, when I mentioned this feeling, "Mr.
When the mare whirled him up to the closed gate he was wondering whose house could be afire. The man who had rung the signal-box yelled something at him, but he already knew. He left the mare to her will. In front of his door was a maniacal woman in a wrapper. "Ned!" she screamed at sight of him. "Jimmie! Save Jimmie!" Trescott had grown hard and chill. "Where?" he said. "Where?" Mrs.
"He will be your creation, you understand. He is purely your creation. Nature has very evidently given him up. He is dead. You are restoring him to life. You are making him, and he will be a monster, and with no mind. "He will be what you like, judge," cried Trescott, in sudden, polite fury. "He will be anything, but, by God! he saved my boy."
She took my hand, pressed it silently, and began caressing her mother and whispering to her things which I could not hear. Mrs. Trescott sat upon a sort of divan, shaking with terrible, soundless sobs, and clasping and unclasping her hands, but making no other gesture.
Trescott, but, owin' to ouah association in the additions we have platted, cyah'y me down also! You can see that with sev'al hundred thousand dolla's of deferred payments on what we have sold, most of which have been rediscounted in the East by the G. B. T., Mr. Trescott's condition becomes something of serious conce'n fo' you-all, as well as fo' me.
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