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Updated: June 17, 2025
"I never fall off," said Mr. Gale, simply. "Old Wragg is out, and me and Charlie Brown carry you into the house," continued Mr. Harris, closing his eyes entirely. "When you come to your senses, she's bending over you and crying." He opened his eyes suddenly and then, closing one, gazed hard at the bewildered Gale.
"If he comes to his senses and gets out of bed you must coax him back again." "Coax?" stuttered Mr. Wragg. "Coax? What's he got to do with me? This house isn't a 'orsepittle. Put his clothes on and take 'im away." "Do nothing of the kind," was the stern reply. "In fact, his clothes had better be taken out of the room, in case he comes round and tries to dress." Mr.
If you should have any confidential friend among the members of Congress from your state, charge him to caution Jackson against the perfidious caresses with which he will be overwhelmed at Washington. New-York, December 11, 1815. A copy of the preceding went under cover to Dr. Wragg. Since that date things are wonderfully advanced, as your secretary will write or tell you.
He hoisted the trunk on his shoulders, and, rather glad of his lowered face, advanced slowly into the house. Uncle and niece had just vanished at the head of the stairs, and Mr. Gale, after a moment's hesitation, followed. "In 'ere," said Mr. Wragg, throwing open a door. "Halloa! What are you doing in my house? Put it down. Put it down at once; d'ye hear?" Mr.
Wragg, and a violent outburst on that gentleman's part died away as he saw that the intruders had disappeared. He was still grumbling when Mr. Harris, putting his head over the balusters, asked him to make a little less noise. Mr. Wragg came upstairs in three bounds, and his mien was so terrible that Messrs. Harris and Brown huddled together for protection.
Gale, was surprised at the expression on that gentleman's face. "Isn't it lovely here?" said the girl, looking about her; "and isn't the air nice?" She followed Mr. Wragg inside, and the driver, a small man and elderly, began tugging at the huge trunk. Mr. Gale's moment had arrived. "Stand away, Joe," he said, stepping forward. "I'll take that in for you."
There is one monument to a native American, "Charles Wragg, Esq., of South Carolina," the only one, I suspect, in Westminster Abbey, and he acquired this memorial by the most un-American of qualities, his loyalty to his king. He was one of the refugees leaving America in 1777, and being shipwrecked on his passage the monument was put up by his sister.
He caressed a small mustache as he spoke, using the finger and thumb of each hand alternately, and Helen noticed that his hands were surprisingly large when compared with his otherwise fragile frame. "Who is the General?" she inquired. "Oh, Wragg, you know. He looks after everything in the amusement line, an' I help. Do let me put you down for the singles an' mixed doubles.
In Ionia and Attica they were luckier in this respect than "the best race in the world"; by the Ilissus there was no Wragg, poor thing!
Even then, knowing how strangely coincidence works at times, I refused to believe that the man who was my promised husband would abandon me under the spell of a momentary infatuation. For it can be nothing more." "Are you sure?" asked the sympathetic Mrs. Vavasour. "By gad!" growled Wragg, "I'm inclined to differ from you there, Miss Jaques.
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