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Updated: August 19, 2024
But the Dowager sent the maid away and took the tray herself, operating all the jugs and pots for me, and then tried to feed me the tea. She was about as handy as Molly's little sister is with the baby but I allowed myself to be coaxed, and drank it down. Tea, Tom Dorgan. Ever taste tea?
It may have been only a fancy, but it seemed to me that Dorgan came in oftener than usual; and more than once I caught him peering at me through the slatted grille, with the convict's trick of looking aside without turning his head.
"Lost his nerve?" repeated Carton. "Yes. I told him I would publish the whole affair of the photographs just as I knew it, not caring whom it hit. I advised him to read his revised statutes again about money in elections and I added the threat, 'There will be no "dough day" or it will be carried to the limit, Dorgan, and I will resurrect Murtha in an hour! You should have seen his face!
But fundamentally I would say that the newspaper editors who are here this week, holding a conference and tendering Harvey a banquet, mean their plainness of dress and life ... and do not hanker after the clubman's way of life as Harvey represents it to their eyes ... you just watch for what Ed. Lowe and Billy Dorgan do to our Eastern chap at the banquet ... they'll kid him till he's sick."
Along a long hall and through a great room, whose walls were thick with books, I was making for a light I could see at the back of the house. That's where Tom Dorgan must be and where I must be to find out to know.
But that was in the days before Dorgan had acquired a country place on Long Island and a taste for golf and expensive motors. Now, in his way, Dorgan was quite as fastidious as any of those he had once affected to despise. It amused Langhorne. But it had not furthered his ambitions of being taken into the inner circle of Dorgan's confidence.
Yep, Tom, that's where it went. I had to choose between giving that skinny maid the biggest tip she ever got in her life or Nance Olden to the Correction. You needn't swear, Tom Dorgan. I fancy if I'd got there, you'd got worse. No, you bully, you know I wouldn't tell; but the police sort of know how to pair our kind. In her cap and apron, I let the doctor in and myself out.
Sherwood and Bill Jordan, white-faced with fear, as a loud "No!" came from a majority of the men. This turn of events caused a breach in the vigilantes' ranks. The Bar O men stood by Mr. Sherwood, but some of the cattlemen from the Junction hated sheepmen more than they loved the law. "Better give Dorgan up," Walt Lampson advised Mr. Sherwood. "No," replied Mr. Sherwood.
"That's the most difficult and unfortunate part of the whole affair," he sighed as we left. "She believes it." I had no comment that was worth while. What was to be done? If people believed it generally, Carton was ruined. Dorgan was putting up a bold fight, at any rate. Everyone, and most of all his opponents who had once thought they had him on the run, was forced to admit that.
"You're not going to faint?" asked the man, moving closer to me. "Me? I never fainted in my life... Where is he now Tom Dorgan?" "Tom Dorgan!" "Yes. I was sure I saw him sail, but, of course, I was mistaken. He has sent you after me, has he? I can hardly believe it of Tom even even yet." "I don't know anything that connects you with Dorgan.
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