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Updated: May 7, 2025
And now, as in the distance, came a faint, indefinable stir, not yet to be identified by Wetherell's ears as a sound, but registered somewhere in his brain as a warning note. Bijah Bixby, as sensitive as he, straightened up to listen, and then the whispering was hushed. The members below raised their heads, and some clutched the seats in front of them and looked up at the high windows.
"I've knowed him ever sense we was boys," said Mr. Bixby; "you saw how intimate we was. When he wants a thing done, he says, 'Bije, you go out and get 'em. Never counts the cost. He was nice to you wahn't he, Will?" And then Mr. Bixby leaned over and whispered in Mr. Wetherell's ear; "He knows you understand he knows." "Knows what?" demanded Mr. Wetherell. Mr.
He stared at William Wetherell, drummed with his fingers on the table, and smiled slightly. "I am happy to say that the Brampton Bank does not own this note any longer. "Don't own the note!" exclaimed Wetherell. "Who does own it?" "We sold it a little while ago since you asked for the extension to Jethro Bass." "Jethro Bass!" Wetherell's feet seemed to give way under him, and he sat down. "Mr.
Worthington sat down with as much dignity as he could muster on one of Jonah's old chairs, and Jonah Winch's clock ticked and ticked, and Wetherell's pen scratched and scratched on his weekly letter to Mr. Willard, although he knew that he was writing the sheerest nonsense. As a matter of fact, he tore up the sheets the next morning without reading them. Mr.
Worthington sat down with as much dignity as he could muster on one of Jonah's old chairs, and Jonah Winch's clock ticked and ticked, and Wetherell's pen scratched and scratched on his weekly letter to Mr. Willard, although he knew that he was writing the sheerest nonsense. As a matter of fact, he tore up the sheets the next morning without reading them. Mr.
"I'm going down on Thursday." "B-better come in and see me," said Jethro. "Very well," answered Mr. Worthington; "I'll be in at two o'clock on Thursday." And then, without another word to either of them, he swung on his heel and strode quickly out of the store. Jethro did not move. William Wetherell's hand was trembling so that he could not write, and he could not trust his voice to speak.
"W-wouldn't if I was you." "What do you mean?" "What I say. T-told Levi Dodd to dismiss her, didn't you?" "Yes, I did." Isaac Worthington had lost in self-esteem by not saying so before. "Why? Wahn't she honest? Wahn't she capable? Wahn't she a lady?" "I can't say that I know anything against Miss Wetherell's character, if that's what you mean." "F-fit to teach wahn't she fit to teach?"
Worthington was, indeed, descending the steps and walking across the lawn toward them, nodding and smiling to acquaintances as he passed. To Wetherell's astonishment he made directly for the place where he was standing and held out his hand. "How do you do, Mr. Wetherell?" he said. "Perhaps you don't remember me, Bob Worthington."
Bijah was slowly squeezing the blood out of William Wetherell's arm. "The doorkeepers has the keys in their pockets!" Mr. Bixby had to shout, for once. Even then the Speaker did not flinch. By a seeming miracle he got a semblance of order, recognized his man, and his great voice rang through the hall and drowned all other sounds. "And on this question a roll-call is ordered.
"Dad's." "She's Will Wetherell's daughter," said Lem Hallowell. "He's took on the store. Will," he added, turning to Wetherell, "let me make you acquainted with Jethro Bass." Jethro rose slowly, and towered above Wetherell on the stoop. There was an inscrutable look in his black eyes, as of one who sees without being seen. Did he know who William Wetherell was?
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