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Updated: May 14, 2025
Weems got pale, and offered the Carabinero half a peseta. Had the bribe been a big one and tendered privately, it might have carried weight; but as it was, the offer was an insult. "At this point I pushed through the crowd, and offered my services as an interpreter.
I prevailed on him to come at all hazards, and we are bound to have a good time and don't want you to discourage us; eh, Arthur?" "I am but little of a politician, Miss Weems," said Arthur, "although I take our country's differences much at heart.
Next to Weems, in point of literary atrocity, comes John S. C. Abbott, whose life of Napoleon is a splendid concealment of the man. Of those who have written biographies for the sake of belittling their subject, John Gait's "Life of Byron" occupies a conspicuous position.
I trust that my roof will be held sacred by my fellow-citizens." "There'll be no harm done to you or yours, Squire Weems, whatever happens. But those strangers had better be out of these parts by to-morrow, sure. Good morning, squire." "Good morning, gentlemen." And the three worthies took their departure, not fully satisfied whether the object of their mission had been fulfilled.
Weems was such a mighty squeamish little creature about the proprieties that I thought an old dunnage-sack would scandalize him, and so had purchased a drab portmanteau for my kit at the cost of half my remaining capital. I intended to have no more breezes with him if it could be avoided.
Old Judge Weems, your father, was a true Virginian, squire, and we know you are of the right sort, too." Beverly bowed in acknowledgment of the compliment. "Squire, the boys hereabouts met down thar at my house last night, to take into consideration them two Northern fellows that are putting up with you." "Well, sir?" "We don't want any Yankee abolitionists in these parts." "Mr.
I cursed Weems vigorously, and set off to Isotta's, where he was staying, to beat him up, swinging the drab portmanteau in my fist, as I didn't want to pay for leaving it, as somehow or other economy seemed to me at that moment to be a strong line. The Swiss day-porter was just coming down.
"That is Weems' hand," he muttered, inwardly, "and by that fellow's look, I fancy that no less a person than myself is the subject of his epistle." Arthur had walked away, but, in his surprise at the unexpected presence of Searle, he had allowed the letter to remain upon the table.
His brow darkened, and quickening his pace, he stepped rudely before her and blocked the way. "Look you, Miss Weems, you have insulted me with your proud ways time and time again, and I have borne it tamely, because I loved you, and because I've sworn that I shall have you. It's that puppy, Harold Hare, that has stepped in between you and me.
Let us therefore consign the Weems stories and their offspring to the limbo of historical rubbish, and try to learn what the plain facts tell us of the boy Washington. Unfortunately these same facts are at first very few, so few that they tell us hardly anything.
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