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That young man is giving up his time, and with the purest motives, to fitting our foreign population for the duties of citizenship. He doesn't disturb the public peace. He takes the men away after their day's work " "Under cover of the dark." "He doesn't run any risk of annoying people by assembling in the streets." "Weedie doesn't want any decent man to know his game, whatever his game is."
"I wonder why it makes you so mad to have me call him Weedie." She answered rather hotly, for her. "You wouldn't do it, any of you, if you weren't disparaging him." "Oh, we might. Out of affection. Weedie! good old Weedie! can't you hear us saying that?" "No, I can't. You wouldn't say it that way. Don't chaff me, Jeff. What do they say now 'jolly' me? Don't do that."
"It's my business to bail out the scuppers here in Addington and bust Weedie Moore." "If you went into business," said Lydia, "and made money you could " "I could pay off my creditors? No, I couldn't, Lydia. I could as easily lift this house." "But you could pay something " "Something on a dollar? Lydia, I've been a thief, a plain common thief. I stole a chicken, say.
His eyes were on the corn shimmering in the heat. "What's in your bonnet, dear?" said he. "I hear a buzz." "What happened the other night?" she asked. "It came to my ears, I won't say how." "Weedie told you. Weedie always told." "I don't say it was Mr. Weedon Moore." She was speaking with dignity, and Jeffrey laughed and unclasped his hands to pat her on the arm.
"No," said Amabel; "I've another bit of business to settle. But think it over, Jeff. We can't afford to let personal issues influence us when the interest of the town is at stake." "Surely not," said Jeff. "Addington forever!" As he went down the stairs he smiled a little, remembering Weedie had not spoken a word after his first greeting. But Jeff didn't waste much thought on Weedie.
Jeff was more interested in his eating than in answering Mrs. Choate with more than an encouraging: "We've got 'em, I think. But I wish," he said, "we had more time to follow up Weedie. What's he saying to 'em?" "Ask Madame Beattie," said Alston, with more distaste than he could keep out of his voice. "I saw her last night on the outskirts of his crowd, sitting in Denny's hack."
This is the first time I have heard his honourable name. Weedon's interpreter." "He has the fruit store on Mill Street." "Ah! Amabel, do you know what this interview has done for me? It's given me a perfectly overwhelming desire to speak the tongues." "Foreign languages, Jeff?" "Any language that will help me beat Weedie at his game, or give me a look at the cards old Madame Beattie holds.
If he were here to-day he wouldn't sit down at the same table with Weedie, and he wouldn't let you." She followed him to the door; her comfortable hand was on his arm. "Weedon will begin his campaign this fall," she said. Evidently she felt bound to define her standpoint clearly. "Where's his money?" They were at the door and Jeffrey turned upon her. "Amabel, you're not going to stake that whelp?"
"We can't," said Jeff, "any more than oil and water. Or alkali and acid. We'd make a mighty fizz. I'm in it for all I'm worth, Amabel. To bust Weedie and save Addington." "Weedon Moore is saving Addington," said she. "Do you honestly believe that? Think how Addington began.
You want to sit submerged, you others, and be choked by slime, if you must be, and have the holy city built up on your shoulders. But the rest of us don't. Moore here doesn't, do you, Weedie?" Weedon gave a quick embarrassed laugh. "You're so droll," said he. "No," said Choate quietly, "I'm not being droll. Of course I want to belong to the dominant class.
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