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Updated: May 19, 2025
"Scab-hunting agencies," the unions were called. One morning when it was learned that the loom-fixers, almost to a man, had gone back to the mills, a streetcar was stopped near the power house at the end of Faber Street, and in a twinkling, before the militia or police could interfere, motorman, conductor, and passengers were dragged from it and the trolley pole removed.
"I can't change my 'things'! I've got just twenty minutes to get to May Parcher's the crowd meets there, and they're goin' to take the trolley in front the Parchers' at exactly a quarter after 'leven. PLEASE don't keep me any longer, mother I GOT to go!" She stepped into the hall and returned immediately. "Here's your overcoat, Willie." His expression was of despair.
My readers will easily recall for themselves just the same sort of "old pine" groups they have record of on memory's picture-gallery, and will, I am sure, agree with me as to the informality, dignity and true beauty of these survivors of the forest, all of which deserve to be appreciatively cared for, against any encroachment of train, trolley or lumberman.
A sound penetrated the night, she drew back from his arms and stood silhouetted against the glare of the approaching headlight of a trolley car, and as it came roaring down on them she hailed it. Ditmar seized her arm. "You're not going now?" he said hoarsely. "I must," she whispered. "I want to be alone I want to think. You must let me." "I'll see you to-morrow?" "I don't know I want to think.
It's no trick at all to go into the average Rube village, 'steen miles from a railroad, and get 'em thrilled with the notion of being connected by trolley with Jaytown, umpteen miles south. Why, they'll hand you anything in sight! A deaf-mute could go out and get that sort of franchise.
Yes, I do. Tell her all expenses paid." After supper that night, for they had supper at six in this rural city of Seaton, John Dunham took a trolley car for the tree-lined street where Miss Lacey's cottage stood behind its row of poplars. "Utterly inappropriate," mused Dunham, smiling to himself as he glanced up at these "old maids of the forest."
"Do let me help you on with your basket. I know it is heavy. I am Jefferson Bucknor. Perhaps you don't remember me, but I have seen you often when you were a child. I've been away from home a long time." While Jeff was introducing himself to Judith the trolley had slowed up and stopped. Three young women and two young men were standing on the platform ready to alight.
"You can say what you like," he conceded, "but we want these horses." They began to argue, but he continued speaking. "If you try and assault us I shall, in self-defence, let fly at your legs. The horses are going on." He treated the incident as closed. "Get up on that waggon, Flack," he said to a thickset, wiry little man. "Boon, take the trolley." The two drivers blustered to Redwood.
He told me how all alone in the world he was, and how hard it was for a man to have nobody who really belonged to him in the wide world, and when he said good-night at the gate he held my hand quite a while; he did, mother." "What else, Lucy?" "You remember that picnic, the trolley picnic to Alford. He sat next to me coming home, and " "And what?"
"Send me a letter to Duluth," he said, on parting, and Dave promised to do so. "I'll tell you what we might do," said Dunston Porter. "We can take a trolley trip to Niagara Falls and come back on a train. We have plenty of time." "Oh, yes, I'd like to see Niagara!" cried Jessie, clapping her hands.
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