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Updated: May 4, 2025
A gruff chuckle made itself heard from Hutchinson's side of the room. "Aye, seventy thousand a year'll bring th' vultures about thee, lad." "We needn't call them vultures exactly," was Little Ann's tolerant comment; "but a lot of people will come here to see you. That was one of the things I thought I might tell you about." "Say, you're a wonder!" "I'm nothing of the sort.
Effie put her face against the window-glass and peered out into the darkness, but she could see nothing of the old man. "A bad ending to your birth-day, little Effie," said her father, coming in just then, all dripping wet. "Never mind. A bad beginning makes a good ending so your birth-day must have begun well, and this day is the beginning of the year for you, so the year'll end well.
"If it's not the law that they've got to invite me or go to jail," said Tembarom, "I don't blame 'em for not doing it if they're not stuck on me. And they're not; and it's natural. But I've got to get in my fine work, or my year'll be over before I've 'found out for myself, as Ann called it. There's where I'm at, Miss Alicia and I've been thinking of Lady Joan and her mother.
'An' ef Zack ain't shavin' the capting, I guess I'm a Dutchman, remarked a neighbouring settler to Robert. 'I reckon a matter of two year'll shave him out o' Daisy Burn, clear and clean. But its owner had some brilliant scheme in the future for lifting him free of every embarrassment. Rainbow tints illuminated all prospective pages of Captain Armytage's life.
"I've got my wife and children along. I want my donation lands." "You, Hall?" "I'll go with you," said Hall, the third column leader, slowly. "Like to try a whirl in California, but if there's so much gold there next year'll do. I want my lands." "Why, there's almost ten thousand people in Oregon by now, or will be next year," argued Wingate.
"Well, my lad, what is it?" said his friend, kindly. "If it's about choosing a wife, I don't know whether my advice will be good for much." "It isn't that," said Dick. "Next year'll be soon enough for that." "So I should think. Well, if it's nothing of that sort, what is it?" "It's about investing some money. I thought you might be able to advise me." "How much is it?" asked Mr.
Lord love you, a mortgage ain't so bad as a porous plaster. It'll come off. One good year for beef will fix us. We ain't lost nothing but this year's sales. Our cattle are too pore for beef, but they're all in good enough shape. We ain't lost none. Next year'll be better." "What makes you think so?" asked Bob. "Well, Smith, he's superintendent at White Oaks, you know, he's favourable to us.
If they can't smash us by fire or labour trouble next year'll see us floated into a seventy million dollar corporation with the whole Canadian wood-pulp industry lying right in the palms of our hands. That's the reason for the things doing." He paused, and the camp-boss nodded his rough head. It was a story he could clearly understand. Then there were those figures. Seventy million dollars!
When John MacDermott was seventeen years of age and entering into his fourth year of monitorship, his Uncle William said to him, "John, boy, you're getting on to be a man now, and it's high time you began to think of what you're going to do with yourself when you are one!" "You're mebbe right," said John. "The next year'll be your last one at the monitoring, won't it?" Uncle William continued.
And Tammas, that polished phrase-maker, was only expressing the feelings of every Dalesman in the room when, one night at the Arms, he declared of Owd Bob that "to ha' run was to ha' won." At which M'Adam sniggered audibly and winked at Red Wull. "To ha' run was to ha' one lickin'; to rin next year'll be to " "Win next year." Tammas interposed dogmatically.
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