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Updated: June 12, 2025
"To be candid with you, my dear young friend, my secret reason for denying myself the pleasure of Tuesday's fete is, that I have just heard that there is a shocking chicken-pox in the village near you; and I confess it is one of my weaknesses to dread even the bare rumour of such a thing, on account of my Amelia: but I should not wish to have this mentioned in your house, because you must be sensible your father would think it an idle womanish fear; and you know how anxious I am for his esteem.
The day before Polly left for the country I heard her inquiring for the "Daily," which I remembered was the name they called the newspaper containing the account of the noble city ladies who had pledged themselves not to wear us any more. "Tuesday's paper?" her mother asked; she was busy at the time fastening a poor, little, mute swallow on a rich hat. "Perhaps it was thrown behind the counter.
Meanwhile Pete walked behind, and caught fragments of a conversation between the girl and Crow. "So you're going to meet himself coming home, miss, eh?" "My faith, how d'ye know that? But it's yourself for knowing things, Mr. Crow. Has he been sailing foreign? Yes, sir; and nine months away for a week come Monday. But spoken at Holyhead in Tuesday's paper, and paid off in Liverpool yesterday.
Tuesday's court day tew Barrington, an ef thar ain't more'n a thousand men on han with clubs an guns, tew stop that air court, wy, call me a skunk. An wen that air court's stopped, that air jail's a comin open, or it's a comin daown, one o' the tew naow."
Garbage wagons and trash carts were the only vehicles admitted within the patrolled section. The water supply fortunately remained unimpaired. Another period of unseasonable cold followed Tuesday's snowstorm and increased the already long list of sufferers from the storm. Paying last rites occupied the time of thousands of persons on Wednesday.
The prospect of Tuesday's stew, for instance, was not a thing to be disregarded or lightly disposed of.
Sir Charles Lackington, president of the Royal Victoria mine, was now due at the camp. He represented the English syndicate that owned the large property. Ill health compelled him to live at Colorado Springs. Once a year he visited Red Hoss Mountain, and always in May. It was announced that he would come to the camp by Tuesday's stage. That stage was robbed by that mysterious outlaw and his gang.
It was just that her father, who always did things thoroughly, had to say something, and so picked on that. "Monday or Tuesday's safest," was her judgment. Maria rolled her eyes round like a gigantic German doll. "Never's best," she gave as her opinion. But that was sly. The others reproved her quickly. "Daddy likes to know," they told her. "Monday or Tuesday's all right."
The ascent to the opening of the cave was, however, another matter; and there was imminent danger of Tuesday's sliding backward on the slippery rock, and crushing Haig beneath him. Twice, indeed, such a fatal accident was narrowly averted, and a less sure-footed animal than Tuesday would have resolved all Haig's doubts in one swift catastrophe.
That house was the scene of Tuesday's tragedy. The woman who has lived there in solitude for years was foully murdered. I have since heard that the people who knew her best have always anticipated some such violent end for her. She never allowed maid or friend to remain with her after five in the afternoon; yet she had money some think a great deal always in the house."
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