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The next thing she knew was Mrs. Chugg arriving at her bedside this morning." "What time did this attack take place?" asked the Chief. "She has no idea," answered the detective. "She couldn't see her watch and they haven't got a striking clock in the house." "But can she make no guess!" "Well, she says she thinks it was several hours before Mrs.
Chugg arrived in the morning... as much as three hours, she thinks!" "And what time did Mrs. Chugg arrive!" "At half-past six!" "About Mackwayte... how long was he dead when they found him? What does the doctor say?" "About three hours approximately, but you know, they can't always tell to an hour or so!"
The remains of a meal still stood on the table. Mrs. Chugg, a diminutive, white-haired, bespectacled woman in a rusty black cape and skirt, was enthroned in the midst of this scene of desolation. She sat in an armchair by the fire, her hands in her lap, obviously supremely content with the position of importance she enjoyed. At the sound of Mr.
It gave long accounts of the scenery, it waxed didactic over the future of the country; but the adventures of the trip, with her incidental acquaintance with the Daxes and Chugg, were not recorded. Eudora announced the arrival of Mrs.
Chugg, comforted with liquids and stayed with a head-plaster, presented himself at the Dax ranch just twenty-four hours after he was due. His mien combined vagueness with hostility, and he harnessed up the stage that Peter Hamilton had driven over the day before, when his prospective passengers were looking, with a graphic pantomimic representation of "take it or leave it."
But Chugg gave no heed, and once he sang the "Ballad of the Mule-Skinner," with what seemed to both terrified passengers an awful warning of their overthrow: "As I was going down the road, With a tired team and a heavy load, I cracked my whip and the leaders sprung— The fifth chain broke, and the wheelers hung, The off-horse stepped on the wagon tongue—"
Moreover, she threatened Dax with the fury of her son should he fail in this particular; and Johnnie, hurt to the quick by the unjust suspicion that he could fail so signally in his duty to a lady, not only refused to replenish the flask, but threatened Chugg with a conditional vengeance in the event of accident befalling the stage.
"I was jes' going downstairs to see if 'e was in the kitching or out at the back," she continued, unheeding the interruption, "when there on the landing I sees a foot asticking out from under the curting. I pulls back the curting and oh, Lor! oh, dear, oh, dear, the pore genelmun, 'im as never did a bad turn to no one!" "Come, come, Mrs. Chugg!" said the detective.
When Mountain Pink and the mule-wrangler returned as bride and groom and set up housekeeping on the remainder of Chugg’s stocking, and on his stage-route, too, so that he had to drive right past the honeymoon cottage every time he completed the circuit, they lost caste in Carbon County. Chugg never spoke of the faithlessness of Mountain Pink.
"He’s drinking something out of a brown bottle—seems to relish it a heep more’n he would cold coffee," reported the watch. "Hi there! Hi! Mr. Chugg!" The stage-driver, thinking it was merely a request to be allowed to walk, continued to drive with one hand and hold the brown bottle with the other. But even his too solid flesh was not proof against the continued bombardment of the umbrella handle.
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