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Updated: May 1, 2025
His standard was borne by his trusty squire, Cornelius Van Vorst; consisting of a huge oyster recumbent upon a sea-green field; being the armorial bearings of his favorite metropolis Communipaw.
Who knows but it might have been this stranger, himself, who had robbed her of her savings? "No, no; I vill stay here. The vorst is over yet already. Dey haf me robbed of my moneys. I no more haf. Dey vill not come bag."
If he does, the General Staff will get a calling down at Washington, and I'll have my ears boxed." Van Vorst moved to the door. "He will never learn the truth from me," he said. "For I will tell him you are to be shot at sunrise." "Good!" laughed the Captain. "And tell me his name. If ever we fight over Westchester County, I want that lad for my chief of scouts. And give him this.
We're not trying to drive people away from Westchester, we're trying to sell them building sites." "You are not!" retorted his friend, "you own half the county now, and you're trying to buy the other half." "I'm a justice of the peace," explained Van Vorst. "I don't know why I am, except that they wished it on me. All I get out of it is trouble.
"Go to, Rose, you are too malapert for a young maiden," said her father. "Once more, where is Peterkin Vorst, who should have kept this post?"
When the Germans are shelling this hill, when they're taking your hunters to pull their cook-wagons, maybe, you'll believe then." "Are you serious?" demanded Van Vorst. "And you an army officer?" "That's why I am serious," returned McCoy. "We know.
No flattery there. Hermia colored gently. "I I scrubbed his floor," she explained to Olga. "It was filthy." The Countess Olga's eyes opened a trifle wider. "I don't doubt it," she said, turning aside. Miss Van Vorst in her role of ingnue by this time was prying about outside the bungalow, on the porch of which she espied Markham's unfinished sketch. "A painting! May I look?
He dashed in suddenly, clutched two policemen in his arms, and hurled himself a prisoner to the pavement, his hold never relaxing on his two captors. Catherine Van Vorst was sick and faint at sight of the blood and brutal fighting. But her qualms were vanquished by the sensational and most unexpected happening that followed.
Then she threw herself face downward on the sofa and burst into wild tears. Her very soul ached. She wept as tempestuously and unreasoningly as youth weeps, although she was not young. It seemed as if she was afraid to stop weeping lest she should go mad thinking. But, after a time, tears failed her, and she began bitterly to go over, word by word, what August Vorst had said.
It would have to be put an end to, and it would end in one only of two ways: either he must become wholly Bill Totts and be married to Mary Condon, or he must remain wholly Freddie Drummond and be married to Catherine Van Vorst. Otherwise, his conduct would be beneath contempt and horrible. In the several months that followed, San Francisco was torn with labour strife.
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