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Updated: May 21, 2025
Here he'd been forced into doin' something nice for a party he had a grudge against, has discovered that Twombley-Crane ain't such a bad lot after all, and has been well paid for it besides, out of money left by his old enemy. "Rather a remarkable set of circumstances, eh, Shorty?" says he, tiltin' back comf'table in one of my front office chairs and lightin' up a fresh twenty-five-cent cigar.
I didn't quite get the slant of all this until later, when we'd finished and was trailin' into the lib'ry. Mrs. Leavitt breaks loose from Twombley-Crane and falls back alongside of me. "Well, how goes it?" says I. "Wasn't so bad, after all, was it?" "Don't tell anyone," she whispers, "but I'm so scared I'd like to yell and run away. I would too, if it wasn't for Edwin." "Who?" says I. "Mr.
It's only the followin' evenin', though, that Sadie announces: "What do you think, Shorty? A Vermont cousin of Mr. Twombley-Crane is in town, with his wife, and they're going to give them a dinner party Friday night." "Gee!" says I. "I'd like to be there." "You will be," says she; "for you are specially invited." "Eh?" says I. "To meet the poor relations? How's that?"
He proposes that we use our combined pull with Mr. Twombley-Crane to land Royce for one consecutive night, anyway plunk in the middle of the younger set.
You had heard of my collection." J. Bayard nods. "And you conceived the idea," goes on Twombley-Crane, "of completing it in this anonymous and kindly manner? Believe me, Sir, I am touched, deeply touched. It is indeed good to know that such generous impulses are felt, that they are sometimes acted upon. I must try to be worthy of such a splendid spirit.
Besides there was the blood, him being an own cousin to Twombley-Crane. Just that was most enough to turn my head, even if that branch of the family never did have much to do with the Leavitt side. But it's a fact that Mr. Leavitt's mother and Twombley-Crane's father were brother and sister." "You don't mean it!" says I.
"Now what do you say to presenting him with a nice, comfortable steam yacht, all equipped for cruising, with a captain and " "Flag it!" says I. "Twombley-Crane ain't a yachty person, at all. He's a punk sailor, to begin with. Besides, he's tried ownin' a yacht, and she almost rusted apart waitin' for him to use her. Nothing like that for him." J. Bayard looks mighty disappointed.
You remember how he drew Twombley-Crane as the first one that he had to unload a kind and gen'rous act on, and how I made him give up the picture that he'd gloated over so long? Well, J. Bayard can't seem to get over the way that turned out.
And as long as I'd known him I've never seen Twombley-Crane thaw out so much. Why, he acts almost human as he shakes hands! Then he takes the package from under his arm and unwraps it. "The Whistler that I'd given up all hope of ever getting!" says he, gazin' at it admirin' and enthusiastic. "So?" says I, non-committal. "And now it appears mysteriously, sent from here," says he.
"Really," says he, "I I don't know. I was coming, as a matter of fact, to take the sketch back. The more I thought it over, the worse I But he was pleased, wasn't he? And Twombley-Crane too! I would not have believed that he could act so decently." "Well, he believed it of you," says I. "You don't stand to lose so much either, by the way. Here!
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