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Updated: June 18, 2025
"It seems Robin came two days ago, and has hardly been seen about the house since. Besides, Purdy-Pell could do nothing with him when he was here before, you remember." "Awful state of things, ain't it?" says I. "The youngster's all of nineteen, ain't he?" "He's nearly twenty-one," says Sadie. "And Mrs. Hollister's such a dear!"
To which 'Stashie exclaimed, in awestruck wonder before the mysteries of creation, "Folks do be the beatin'est, don't they now, Mis' Hollister!" "And you must not speak of Mr. Hollister's aunt as a 'poor old soul," explained Lydia, apprehensive of Paul's wrath if he ever chanced to hear such a characterization. "But she is that," protested 'Stashie.
When he did work, when he had the vision and the fit was on and words came easily, chance callers met with scant courtesy. But he had great stores of time to spare, for all that. Some of it he spent at Bland's, waging an interminable contest at cribbage with Bland, coming up now and then with the Blands to spend an evening at Hollister's.
It was no wonder that the Hollisters were Democrats, for they had a queer streak in them; owing, no doubt, to the fact that old Mr. Jules Hollister's mother had been a Frenchwoman. He looked like a Frenchman, by the way, and always wore a skullcap.
Hollister's joy knew no bounds when Aunt Susan invited Ethel to return with her to Akron. Her scheme was beginning to work. Ethel was a lovely girl. Aunt Susan would grow fond of her and the fortune was assured. Besides, as it would cost a small fortune to take Ethel to a fashionable summer resort, Mrs. Archie could save money for the winter.
A peculiarity of Hollister's disfigurement was the immobility of his face. The shell which had mutilated him, the scalpels of the German field surgeons who had perfunctorily repaired the lacerations, had left the reddened, scar-distorted flesh in a rigid mold. He could neither recognizably smile nor frown. His face, such as it was, was set in unchangeable lines.
Professor Hollister's report failed to mention any such deposits. As a matter of fact they did not exist. But Mr. Gordon summoned experts of his own, who attacked my husband's statements. The professor declined to enter into a public controversy. His dignity would not permit him. Underhanded influence was brought to bear on the Governor, and the appointment was given to another.
Hollister thought he might have seen him at the steamer landing, or at Carr's. He mentioned that. "I have been working there," the man replied. "Working on the boom." He was frank enough about it. He wanted money, a stake. He believed he could make more cutting shingle bolts by the cord. This was true. Hollister's men were making top wages. The cedar stood on good ground.
The soil, warmed by the sun, sent up the first shoots of fern and grasses, a myriad fragile green tufts that would presently burst into flowers. The Toba rose day by day, pouring down a swollen flood of snow-water to the sea. And life went on as it always did. Hollister's crew, working on a bonus for work performed, kept the bolts of cedar gliding down the chute.
A year passed by, and Willis recovered from the dreadful blow to his hopes, but he often puzzled over Miss Hollister's singular behavior towards him. He had placed the matter before several of his friends, and, with the exception of one of them, none was more capable of solving his problem than he.
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