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Updated: May 17, 2025
DeGolyer ran to him and eased him into his chair. "Your son is here, and the man who has brought nothing but ill luck will leave you. I tried to soften this, but couldn't," Witherspoon's head shook as he looked up at him. "Wait a moment, and I will call him. No, don't get up." DeGolyer hastened to the front door, and standing on the steps, he called: "Henry! oh, Henry!" "All right, Hank."
It was afternoon when Miss Worthington was pondering over Witherspoon's telegram from Philadelphia, that Officer McNerney was swiftly rowed out to the yacht "Rambler," lying on the oily summer waters of the lower bay. Beside him, the notary calmly awaited the materialization of the second hundred-dollar bill.
Evidently he knew what was passing in Witherspoon's mind. "My affairs may be light to some people," Henry said, "but they are heavy enough to me." By looking serious Brooks sought to mollify the effect of his smile.
Henry got up, placed his hand on Witherspoon's shoulder, and said: "Sit down here, father." "Sit down the devil!" he raved. "I tell you that Brooks has been arrested. I am going down-town." "Not to-night. Sit down here." "What do you mean, sir!" "I mean that you must not go down-town. You can do no good by going, Brooks is guilty. There is no doubt about it." The old man dropped in his chair. Mrs.
Henry asked. "Oh, yes, but it is dead now. Mother, you ought to see the young woman I saw at Henry's office the other day. Look, he's trying to blush. Oh, she's dazzling with her great blue eyes." Mrs. Witherspoon's look demanded an explanation. "Mother," said Henry, "she means our book-reviewer." "I don't like literary women," Mrs.
On DeGolyer's part the day was spent in the spinning of the threads of excuses. He might explain a week's delay, but how was he to account for a three months' put-off? And if at the end of that time young Witherspoon's case should be pronounced hopeless what course was then to be taken? He did not see George Witherspoon again until dinner-time. The merchant met him with a quick inquiry.
The little hoard of twenty-eight thousand dollars in certified cheques was there, with an order for Randall Clayton's active stocks. A duly executed will, in favor of my school-fellow and friend, Jack Witherspoon, lawyer, of Detroit, was accompanied with a letter which gave the history of the abortive attempt to decoy him to Cheyenne. The last manly lines brought tears to Jack Witherspoon's eyes.
John Witherspoon as the Detroit counsel of the Trading Company's great syndicate carrying agents insured his instant admission to the general manager's room. There was a sober gathering of a dozen magnates, and Arthur Ferris sprang up, somewhat disconcerted, when he saw Witherspoon's anxious face.
"Mother," said Henry, getting up and taking her hand, "I am grieved that this dispute arose. I know that he is set in his ways, and it is unfortunate that I was compelled to cross him, but it had to come sooner or later." "I am very sorry, but I don't blame you, my son. If you don't want to go into the store, why should you?" They heard Witherspoon's jolting walk, up and down the hall.
"The poor ones won't mind being muddy and dirty in the trenches," said Alma, "but I can't fancy Derry Drake without two baths a day " "I can't quite fancy him a slacker." There was a hint of satisfaction in Mrs. Witherspoon's voice. Her son and Derry Drake had gone to school together and to college. Derry had outdistanced Ralph in every way; but now it was Ralph who was leaving Derry far behind.
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