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To one of them Mr. Luce tossed the ball. "Now, then," shot out Luce's voice, "this is for quick understanding and judgment. Whoever receives the ball will throw it without delay to anyone I name. So post yourselves on where each other man stands. I want fast work, and I want straight, accurate work. But no amount of speed will avail, unless the accuracy is there. And vice versa!"
Rosalie had drooned Thackeray to the old lady until both of them were dozing, and it was indeed a welcome relief that came with Roscoe's resounding thumps on the front door. Mrs. Luce was too old to be frightened out of a year's growth, but it is perfectly safe to agree with her that the noise cost her at least three months.
"D'ye reckin she understands?" the younger daughter said, cautiously. "Lordy, no!" answered the mother; "we ain't said nothin'. Ye kin go ef ye want to, Sheba," she added, cheerfully. "Thar's a little rocking-cheer that ye kin set in. Help her down, Luce." But she had already slipped down and found her way to the door opening out on to the street.
"Nice sort of an outlaw he'll make that woodchuck!" observed Constable Nute with a cackle of mirth. The first selectman and his supporters surveyed the approach of the furious Mr. Luce with great complacency. If Mr. Luce had emerged with a shot-gun in his fist and a knife in his teeth he might have presented some semblance of an outlaw.
"And," I remarked, "another name I remember; the son of one of these families is Willard." "Was it Willard Luce?" he asked. "That's it?" "My , is it possible all those families have moved here?" I then said: "Do I look any like that Perry Johnston?" He looked me over carefully and said he believed I did.
As he spake this he threw off his great monk's habit, and laid hold upon the staff of the cross, which was made of the heart of a sorbapple-tree, it being of the length of a lance, round, of a full grip, and a little powdered with lilies called flower de luce, the workmanship whereof was almost all defaced and worn out.
When he heard Mr. Luce in the village square and looked out on him, he scored two, still on the right side. Mr. Luce bore his grisly sack, but he did not carry a stick of dynamite in his hand. "Goin' to put my wife in the poorhouse, hey?" he squalled. Cap'n Sproul scored three. "She got at him and unloaded!" he murmured. "And it fixed him, if I know cowards." "She's goin' to be a widder, hey?
As soon as they were gone Julia repaired to the negro quarters and, by dint of threats, flattery and promises of reward, finally prevailed upon Luce to join with her in her dark plot. They then went to Julia’s sleeping room and carefully opened the closet door, so that every word of their conversation could be heard in the adjoining room.
There he quickly got into his street clothes and as hastily quitted the athletic field. Therein Fred Ripley made a mistake, as he generally did in other things. In sport all can't win. It is more of an art to be a cheerful, game loser than to bow to the plaudits of the throng. "Mr. Prescott," demanded Coach Luce, "how long have you been working under Pop Gint's training?"
Great poets like Burns were far more undignified when they clothed their thoughts in what Mr. Morton Luce calls "the seemly raiment of cultured speech" than when they clothed them in the headlong and flexible patois in which they thought and prayed and quarrelled and made love.
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