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Updated: April 30, 2025
"What say you to Master Potts there? Will he suit you?" "He pooh! Do you think ey'd put up wi' sich powsement os he! Neaw; when Bess Whitaker, the lonleydey o' Goldshey, weds, it shan be to a mon, and nah to a ninny-hommer." "Bravely resolved, Bess," cried Nicholas. "You deserve another kiss for your spirit."
Whitaker did it for him. "They'll come in and play music on my piano," he insisted sulkily, "and sing notes into my air and I repeat I'm in no mood for music." But Kreiling, big, blond and Teutonic, was already striding in with Caesare at his heels. They filled the air with joyous greetings, thumped upon the intervening wall for Garry and unloaded their pockets and an institutional leather bag.
Whitaker says that as late as 1753 the roads near Leeds consisted of a narrow hollow way little wider than a ditch, barely allowing of the passage of a vehicle drawn in a single line; this deep narrow road being flanked by an elevated causeway covered with flags or boulder stones.
"You deserved to be ducked for it," said Whitaker, "for a weather-headed puppy; but what is all this Jack-a-lantern story to Bridgenorth?"
"I didn't say you had tried. I mean merely that you were accidentally succeeding. The sunsets " "Damn the sunsets!" roared Kenny, losing his head. "It was time for that," agreed Whitaker. "Time for what?" "You usually damn the irrefutable thing.
"His name's Hurtle Whitaker Hurtle. Whit fer short. He hain't lost a gol-darned game this summer. No sir-ee! Never pitched any before, nuther." Hurtle! What a remarkably fitting name! Rickettsville chose the field and the game began. Hurtle swung with his easy motion. The ball shot across like a white bullet. It was a strike, and so was the next, and the one succeeding.
They turned toward the lower road." "Let's get after them," suggested Foster. "A long way after them," said Will grimly. "We never could catch up with them." "Mr. Whitaker," said Hawley, "how long ago were the canes taken away from here?" The good man hesitated, and the freshman without waiting for him to speak began again. "We belong to the same class as your grandson.
Whitaker, the apostle of Virginia, mingles, like many a missionary of the present day, the style of an exhorter with a keen discernment of the traits of the savage mind. George Percy, fresh from Northumberland, tells in a language as simple as Defoe's the piteous tale of five months of illness and starvation, watched by "those wild and cruel Pagans."
"I remember once around the fire here you told a Celtic tale of some golden islands Tirnanoge, wasn't it? the Land of the Young " Might have been, Kenny said perversely. He didn't remember. "Ossian lived there with the daughter of the King of Youth for three hundred years that seemed but three," reminded Whitaker. "Well, no matter.
No one went up to tea, everyone was waiting for the end. At last it came. Whitaker, who alone had been able to withstand the School House attack, over-reached himself, Gordon gathered the ball quickly, the bails flew off. The umpire's hand rose. A wild shriek rose from the crowd. Gordon's last game at Fernhurst was over; his last triumph had come; at last "Samson had quit himself like Samson."
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