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Updated: April 30, 2025
He's got his mind kind o' set on my goin' through this corn again. When'll we start?" "Let's see to-day is Wednesday we ought to get off on Monday." "Well, now, if you don't mind, Milt, I'd like to have you go up and see what Father says." "I'll fix him," said Milton. "Where is he?" "Right up the road, mending fence."
"Why, you ain't ever done such a thing in your life, Sam!" said Mrs. Kimper, with a feeble giggle. "More's the shame to me; but it's never too late to mend. When'll Billy get home, an' Tom?" "Goodness knows; Billy gets kep' in so much, an' Tom plays hookey so often, that I don't ever expect either of 'em much 'fore supper-time. They talk of sendin' Tom to the Reform School if he don't stop."
Yan's manner was convincing, but to do all that in his head was the miracle. Various rude tests were applied and the general opinion prevailed that Yan was right. The farmer's face beamed with admiration for the first time. "Luk at that," he said to the table, "luk at that fur eddication. When'll you be able to do the like?" he said to Sam. "Never," returned his son, with slow promptness.
Davis uttered a sharp exclamation, and, falling back a step, stared at her open-mouthed. "We all make mistakes," urged Mr. Wotton, after a long silence, "and Ben's sight ain't wot it used to be. He strained it looking out for a sail when we was on that desert " "When when'll she be back?" inquired Mr. Davis, finding his voice at last. The old lady affected to look puzzled.
"When'll you start?" asked the wife, turning to pour the batter in little, sputtering, grey-white circles on to the hot, greased griddle. "First thing to-morrow mornin'!" answered Dave, seating himself at the table as the appetizing smell of the browning pancakes filled the room. "Snow's jest right for snowshoein', an' I'll git back easy Christmas Eve."
This object was the Rose of Sharon, and at once George became actively astir to the surgings of yesterday, the mysteries of the future. Pondering upon them, he was disturbed by a knock that heralded a voice: "The paper you ordered, mister; and when'll you be ready for breakfast?"
And this remarkable plan of McQuade's was deranged by a chance guess by Patty. Meantime at Martin's it was growing lively. The bar was crowded, the restaurant was being liberally patronized, and persons went up the stairs that did not return. Jordan paid the check, and he and Osborne went out. "When'll they go out, Ben?" "Monday." "Too bad. I wish I'd been sober."
"H-how is it written," said Jethro, leaning over it, "h-how is it written?" "Cynthy," answered Mr. Judson, involuntarily. "Then make it Cynthy make it Cynthy." "Cynthy it shall be," said Mr. Judson, with conviction. "When'll you have it done?" "To-night," replied Mr. Judson, with a twinkle in his eye, "to-night, as a special favor." "What time w-what time?" "Seven o'clock, sir.
Mike, where are them sandwiches? I feel like a bite. One for the Sergeant too! But no more flask no, you don't Sergeant! When'll we start, Mike!" "In about half-an-hour." "Just nice time for a snack oysters and stout for you, my darling?" said jovial Neddy. Then with a change of voice "Just as well that didn't pass us!" For the sound of a car came from the road they had just left.
"Laddy, it's harder to get out at that end than here," he replied. "Shore that's hard enough. Let me have a look.... Well, boys, it don't take no figgerin' for this job. Jim, I'll want you at the other end blockin' the pass when we're ready to start." "When'll that be?" inquired Jim. "Soon as it's light enough in the mornin'. That Greaser outfit will hang till to-morrow.
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