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Updated: June 14, 2025
The day after his introduction to the Kenbys, Larcher went with Murray Davenport on one of those expeditions incidental to their collaboration as writer and illustrator. Larcher had observed an increase of the strange indifference which had appeared through all the artist's loquacity at their first interview. This loquacity was sometimes repeated, but more often Davenport's way was of silence.
"This great couch, facing the fire, with all these lovely blue silk pillows, is certainly the most comfortable looking thing I ever saw," sighed Winifred Chester, casting her plump little figure into the davenport's roomy depths and clasping her hands under her head in an attitude of repose.
"And incidentally, whenever he meets Murray Davenport's other friend, Mr. Bud, he turns around for a better look at him. H'm! Well, what yuh make out o' all that?" "To begin with, that there was certainly something between Turl and Davenport which Turl doesn't want Davenport's friends to know. What do you make out of it?" "That's all, so fur.
After the explosion, with less than one thousand two hundred men, and with the co-operation of Wright's Battery and Davenport's Battery, and a few men of Wise's Brigade, resisted nine thousand of the enemy from five to eight o'clock.
And who shone brighter in his day, than Benjamin Bannaker, of Baltimore county, Maryland, who by industry and force of character, became a distinguished mathematician and astronomer, "for many years," says Davenport's Biographical Dictionary, "calculated and published the Maryland Ephemerides."
It included a hat, shoes, everything, particularly shoulder braces; he put those on when he came to be fitted with the suit and overcoat. Of course, nothing of the old Davenport's was to emerge with the new man. "Well, he left his purchases to be called for. His paper parcel, containing the instruments, drugs, and so forth, he thought best to cling to.
In this way, I succeeded in getting him out of his depressed state. We got into an argument concerning the merits of Miss Davenport's work. I know of nothing Maitland would sooner do than argue, and, if attacked on a subject upon which he feels strongly, he is, for the time being, totally oblivious of everything else. For this reason I trapped him into this argument.
Wilson left the house, not knowing whether to be pleased or grieved. They had all spoken kindly to him, and who could tell if they might not inquire into Davenport's case, and do something for him and his family.
He lapsed into that reticence which, as it was his manner during most of the time, made his strange seasons of communicativeness the more remarkable. A few days passed before another such talkative mood came on in Larcher's presence. It was a drizzling, cheerless night. Larcher had been to a dinner in Madison Avenue, and he thus found himself not far from Davenport's abode.
"Not at all, as far as I'm concerned," said Turl, taking a bank-bill from his pocket and handing it to Larcher. "I've heard of Mr. Barry Tompkins," said Bagley. "He'd do all right. But if he's a friend of Davenport's " "He isn't a friend," corrected Larcher. "He met him once or twice in my company for a few minutes at a time."
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