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"Freckles, Freckles," said McLean's voice. Freckles snatched down his sleeve and arose to his feet. "Excuse me, sir," he said. "You'll surely be belavin' I thought meself alone." McLean pushed him carefully to the seat, and bending over him, opened a pocket-case that he carried as regularly as his revolver and watch, for cuts and bruises were of daily occurrence among the gang.
But the cow-puncher had ceased to smile, and now, while Barker ran on exuberantly, McLean's wide-open eyes rested upon him, singular and intent, and in their hazel depths the last gleam of jocularity went out. "That's where the strain comes, you see. Two sets of acquaintances. Grateful patients and loyal voters, and I've got to keep solid with both outfits, especially the wives and mothers.
He had drawn from Corporal Zook a detailed account of McLean's spirited and soldierly conduct in the fight; learned that it was he who killed the second warrior in what was practically a hand-to-hand struggle, and that his wounds were painful and severe, despite his effort to overcome and hide them when the pursuit began. Hatton's remarks had been echoing time and again through his memory.
We can't tie ourselves to Sunday afternoon engagements. Nance and I wouldn't have you feel that way for anything." The stormy Judy, calmed by these assuring words, returned to her rooms, while Molly hurried downstairs and across the campus toward the infirmary. A number of people had gathered at the door of the hospital. Dr. McLean's buggy and a doctor's motor car waited outside.
Where will you have him call, at the doctor's?" "No, I believe not. If it is all the same to you, would you mind my seeing him at your quarters? I am greatly interested in this scout and fight, and want to get his story of the affair. Terry doesn't tell anything but the baldest outline." "Certainly, Mr. Holmes. My room, that is, McLean's, be it.
Once out in the hall McLean's movements gained aim and precision. He got his coat, hat and stick, flung the first over his arm and the second on his head, and "Going out?" asked Peter calmly. "Yes, nothing to do here. I've read all the infernal old magazines until I'm sick of them." Indignant, too, from his tone. "Walking?" "Yes." "Mind if I go with you?" "Not at all."
Schonbrunn having failed them, McLean and, Peter went back to the city in the street-car, neither one saying much. Even McLean's elasticity was deserting him. His eyes, from much peering into crowds, had taken on a strained, concentrated look. Peter was shabbier than ever beside the other man's ultrafashionable dress. He sat, bent forward, his long arms dangling between his knees, his head down.
He had been going out when these callers were announced and he was dressed for parade, in a very light, very tight suit, gardenia in his button-hole, cane in his gloved hands, fez upon his head. For all their smiling welcome, his full, dark eyes were uneasy. He had grown distrustful of surprises. It was McLean's affair to reassure him.
If anybody follows her, I do, and I'm needed here among such a pack of idiots. There's no danger in that baby face. She wouldn't give me away! You double and work like forty, while me and Wessner will take the axes and begin to cut in on the other side." "What about the noise?" asked Wessner. "No difference about the noise," answered Jack. "She took us to be from McLean's gang, slick as grease.
Lufton, as you'll perceive before the morning's half over, but she doesn't mean the half she says, like every other woman under the sun." Jimmy laughed. How delightful it was to him to be among these gay, simple-hearted people who found a good deal of enjoyment in life without the aid of things he had been accustomed to. Presently he heard Andy McLean's voice saying: "Miss Brown, Mr.
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