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Updated: May 7, 2025
His back was toward them, but the fingers of his left hand working convulsively caught Wetherell's eye and held it; save for the ticking of the clock and the chirping of the crickets in the grass, there was silence. Then Mr. Worthington closed the door softly, hesitated, turned, and came back and stood before Jethro. "Mr. Bass," he said, "we've got to have that franchise."
His back was toward them, but the fingers of his left hand working convulsively caught Wetherell's eye and held it; save for the ticking of the clock and the chirping of the crickets in the grass, there was silence. Then Mr. Worthington closed the door softly, hesitated, turned, and came back and stood before Jethro. "Mr. Bass," he said, "we've got to have that franchise."
"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?
Mickle, translator of the Lusiad, at Wheatley, a very pretty country place a few miles from Oxford; and on the other with Dr. Wetherell, Master of University-College. From Dr. Wetherell's he went to visit Mr. Sackville Parker, the bookseller; and when he returned to us, gave the following account of his visit, saying, 'I have been to see my old friend, Sack.
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.
"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?
Jethro was often silent for hours at a time, but it seemed to Cynthia that it was the silence of peace of a peace he had never known before. There came no newspapers to the tannery house now: during the mid-week he read the books of which she had spoken William Wetherell's books; or sat in thought, counting, perhaps; the days until she should come again.
Wetherell put his hand to his head, but he did not dare to ask the question. Then Jethro Bass fixed his eyes upon him. "Hain't never mixed any in politics hev you n-never mixed any?" Wetherell's heart sank. "No," he answered. "D-don't take my advice d-don't." "What!" cried the storekeeper, so loudly that he frightened himself. "D-don't," repeated Jethro, imperturbably.
One day, in the November following William Wetherell's death, Jethro Bass astonished Coniston by moving to the little cottage in the village which stood beside the disused tannery, and which had been his father's. It was known as the tannery house.
His back was toward them, but the fingers of his left hand working convulsively caught Wetherell's eye and held it; save for the ticking of the clock and the chirping of the crickets in the grass, there was silence. Then Mr. Worthington closed the door softly, hesitated, turned, and came back and stood before Jethro. "Mr. Bass," he said, "we've got to have that franchise."
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