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Updated: June 14, 2025
Even Jack Barrow, with all an accepted lover's privileges, had never calmly told her that she must do thus and so, and acted on the supposition that his word was final. But here was Roaring Bill Wagstaff telling her how to put her foot in the stirrup, putting her for the first time in her life astride a horse, warning her to duck low branches.
"Well ah you see," he began rather lamely. "The fact is I hope you'll regard this as strictly confidential, Mrs. Wagstaff. I wouldn't want Bill to think I, or any of us, was trying to bring pressure on him. But the fact is, Bill's got a mistaken impression about the way we're conducting the financial end of this mining proposition. You understand?
And she wanted him, longed for him, if only so that she could make amends. She easily found Courvoiseur, a tall, spare Frenchman, past middle age. Yes, he could deliver a message to Bill Wagstaff; that is, he could send a man. Bill Wagstaff was in the Klappan Range. "But if he should have left there?" Hazel suggested uneasily.
"Charley" Gilham, and "Gunnery Jack," stopped down on the main deck to look after the capstan, which was soon surrounded by a squad of "jollies" under the command of one of the marine officers, Lieutenant Wagstaff, a fellow as tall as a maypole and with a headpiece of very similar material!
But in the thick woods it lay as it had fallen, full five foot deep, a downy wrapping for the slumbering earth, over which Bill Wagstaff flitted on his snowshoes as silently as a ghost a fur-clad ghost, however, who bore a rifle on his shoulder, and whose breath exhaled in white, steamy puffs. Gold or no gold, the wild land was giving up its treasure to them.
"I want a woman of my own kind." "Heaven save me from that classification!" she observed, with emphasis on the pronoun. "Yes?" he drawled. "Well, there's no profit in arguing that point. Let's be getting on." He reached for the lead rope of the nearest pack horse. Hazel urged Silk up a step. "Mr. Wagstaff," she cried, "I must go back." "You can't go back without me," he said.
They may weel affoord se'enteen hunner linen to set it aff wi' 'at has naething but coaton inside the breeks o' them. 'But Dr. Wagstaff says it's healthier, interposed Peddie. 'I'll wag a staff till him. De'il a bit o' 't 's healthier! an' that he kens. It's nae sae healthy, an' sae it mak's him mair wark wi' 's poothers an' his drauchts, an' ither stinkin' stuff. Healthier! What neist?
There is a madcap undertaker who is inimitable at a merry song; but the life of the club, and indeed the prime wit of Little Britain, is bully Wagstaff himself. His ancestors were all wags before him, and he has inherited with the inn a large stock of songs and jokes, which go with it from generation to generation as heirlooms.
She wondered if Roaring Bill Wagstaff would ever, under any circumstances, have looked on her with the scornful, angry distrust that Barrow had once betrayed. And she could not conceive of Bill Wagstaff ever being humble or penitent for anything he had done.
"Well, I can hardly tell you, if you won't have Wagstaff, or Pugsby, or Sniggins, or Goldman, or somebody that's respectable, to do what's proper, the child sha'n't be christened at all. As for Prettyman, or any such raff no, never! I'm sure there's a certain set of people that poverty's catching from, and that Prettyman's one of 'em.
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