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Updated: June 3, 2025
"Why didn't you say anything about the letter to him?" asked Kennedy under his breath. "What was the use?" returned Waldon. "I didn't know how he'd take it. Besides, I wanted your advice on the whole thing. Do you want to show it to him?" "Perhaps it's just as well," ruminated Kennedy. "It may be possible to clear the thing up without involving anybody's name.
"In the first place," declared Joe, "we must change our form of general admission tickets at once. That will stop the fraud, graft, or whatever you want to call it. Then we must do as Mr. Waldon says look for the guilty parties. We'll have to hire some detectives, I think." This plan was voted a good one, and steps were at once taken to change the form and style of the general admission tickets.
"Besides, I feel that I'd like a little fresh air as a bracer, too, after such a shock." "What were those little cuts?" I asked as Waldon and Dr. Jermyn preceded us through the crowd outside to the pier. "Some one," he answered in a low tone, "has severed the pneumogastric nerves." "The pneumogastric nerves?" I repeated. "Yes, the vagus or wandering nerve, the so-called tenth cranial nerve.
He always had the interests of the circus at heart, and one would think that the money came out of his own pocket to hear him talk about the counterfeit tickets. In a way he did lose, personally, since he was one of the owners of the show, and the less money that came in the less his stock dividends would amount to. "I'll write to Mr. Waldon to-night," said Joe, as he took the two tickets.
"Friends!" called Frank. "Hello, Fred. It's Raymond, Waldon and Sheldon." There was a shout of delight, and Fred, accompanied by several other sentries, came running to the water's edge. "Glory, hallelujah!" shouted Fred, as eager hands pulled the Army Boys up on the bank. "So you pulled through after all. The whole regiment had given you up.
He could have given up writing, and still have made a good living ashore as a blacksmith's bellows! And as for the local color and information well, he blinked through his black rimmed glasses at our immaculate decks, and said it was a pity they built ships for use and not for looks nowadays, and went on talking about himself, and what he could do with "King" Waldon.
Also, he was seeking local color, and whatever information he could pick up about "King" Waldon. He had heard of the death of "King" Waldon, down in Samoa Waldon, the trader, of the vanishing race of island adventurers and he expected to travel about the south seas investigating the "king's" past, so he could write a book about the old viking. He had heard that Captain Shreve had known Waldon.
Only a casual glance was necessary to show me that the writing seemed to grow more and more weak as it progressed, and the note stopped abruptly, as if the writer had been suddenly interrupted or some new idea had occurred to her. Hastily I tried to figure it out. Lucie Waldon, as everybody knew, was a famous beauty, a marvel of charm and daintiness, slender, with big, soulful, wistful eyes.
As quickly and unostentatiously as I could I did so and handed him the wet cloth, contriving at the same time to add Waldon to our barrier, for I could see that Kennedy was anxious to be observed as little as possible. "What is it?" I whispered, as he rubbed the transparent skin-like stuff off, and dropped the gauze into his pocket.
I shook hands with Waldon, who gave me a grip that was both a greeting and an added impulse in our general direction through the wicket. "Might have known the Star would assign you to this Edwards case," panted Kennedy, mopping his forehead, for the heat in the terminal was oppressive and the crowd, though not large, was closely packed. "Mr.
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