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For selections, see Bronson, IV., 1-54; Ward, IV., 1-88; Oxford 594-618; Century, 503-541; Manly, I., 329-345. Which of the above poems seems easiest to write? In which is his genius most apparent? Which best presents his view of nature? Which best stand the test of an indefinite number of readings? In what do his poems of childhood excel? Coleridge.
And here he was at home. This was his country. But he had set his face toward the High Trail. He could not turn back. Dorothy stood in the doorway, her finger at her lips. Bronson was busy writing. Lorry rose and stepped out. He stooped and lifted her to Gray Leg. She sat sideways in the saddle as he led the pony across the mesa to the veritable rim of the world.
Bronson obviated the discomfort of the evenings, there remained still too many hours of the autumnal day in which the impossibility of heating their own little apartment must have made itself unpleasantly felt. The latter drawback would have been averted by the fulfilment of Mr.
Bronson," continued the captain, "you point that gun aft toward the heavens and you fire it until I tell you to stop. Mr. Taylor, you do the same with the gun forward." The captain glanced around. His third officer was busy. He called to Jack. "Mr. Templeton," he cried, "you go below and tell my wireless operator to pick up the cruiser Pioneer.
He had planned to elope with the Murray girl, and awaiting an opportunity, had persuaded her to leave home and to take a room near my house. Here he had visited her daily, while his wife was at the theater. They had planned to go to New York together on Monday, March the fifth. On Sunday, the fourth, however, Mr. Bronson and Mr. Howell had made their curious proposition.
She shut her fan with a click and her face was not particularly pleasant to look at. "You are dense," she said insolently. "I want those papers for myself, not for Andy Bronson." "Then the idea is," I said, ignoring her tone, "that you think you have me in a hole, and that if I find those papers and give them to you you will let me out.
"You must be eager to see my life blood scattered all over creation. But, speaking of volplaning, I've had three lessons this week. Next week Bronson says I'll be flying like a gull. 'Gad, it's wonderful. I've had two tumbles, that's all, little ones, of course, net result a barked knee and a peeled elbow."
"Looks like that chicken was gettin' the best of you," he said, smiling. "That's just it," she agreed, nothing abashed. "Father, you'll have to help." "You'll excuse us, won't you? We'll finish our visit at dinner." Lorry had reports to make out. He dragged a chair to the table. That man Bronson was all right. Let's see the thirtieth looked stockier in daylight.
Joe started, so correctly had his thought been guessed. "Yes," he said simply. "Tell us about it." Joe rapidly described his home, though forced to go into greater detail because of the curious questions of his companion. 'Frisco Kid was interested in everything, especially in Mrs. Bronson and Bessie. Of the latter he could not seem to tire, and poured forth question after question concerning her.
Lane was admitted at once into the office of Doctor Bronson, a little, gray, slight man with shrewd, kind eyes and a thoughtful brow. For years he had been a friend as well as physician to the Lanes, and he had always liked Daren. His surprise was great and his welcome warm. But a moment later he gazed at Lane with piercing eyes. "Look here, boy, did you go to the bad over there?" he demanded.
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