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"Well," resumed "Stump," "the crazy captain put the doctor and the crew in the cages and began to feed them hardtack and berth-deck scouse and salt-horse and " "Must have been a Government naval contractor in his time," murmured "Morrie." "I bet I know the rest," exclaimed the "Kid," coming up in time to grasp the situation.
"Uncle Morrie" of the next letter is Mr. Morrison Heady, of Normandy, Kentucky, who lost his sight and hearing when he was a boy. He is the author of some commendable verses. TO MR. MORRISON HEADY Tuscumbia, Ala., March 1st 1888. My dear uncle Morrie, I am happy to write you a letter, I do love you, and I will hug and kiss you when I see you. Mr. Anagnos is coming to see me Monday.
Thomas, third son of Maurice Fitzgerald, claimed partly through his uncle Fitzstephen, and partly through his marriage with the daughter of another early adventurer, Sir William Morrie, whose vast estates on which his descendants were afterwards known as Earls of Desmond, the White Knight, the Knight of Glyn, and the Knight of Kerry.
Anthony and Frances tried, conscientiously and patriotically, to realize the Boer War. They said it was terrible to have it hanging over them, morning, noon and night. But it didn't really hang over them. It hung over a country that, except once when it had conveniently swallowed up Morrie, they had never thought about and could not care for, a landscape that they could not see.
Uncle Morrie never accounted, even to himself, for the time he had spent between the arrival of his ship at Tilbury on Sunday morning and that Saturday afternoon. Neither could he remember what had become of his luggage or whether he had ever had any.
Frances knew what Anthony was thinking, and Anthony knew it was what Frances thought herself: Supposing this time Morrie didn't come back? Then that problem would be solved for ever. Frances hated problems when they worried Anthony. Anthony detested problems when they bothered Frances. And the children knew what they were thinking. Dorothy went on.
The return of Morrie was not altogether unforeseen, and Bartholomew had announced his coming well beforehand, but who could have dreamed that at the end of the nineteenth century England would be engaged in a War that really was a War?
That's war." Frances looked at him. He thought: "At last she's turned; at last I've touched her; she can realize that." "Morrie dear, it must have been awful," she said. "It's too awful. I don't mind your telling me and Anthony about it; but I'd rather you did it when the children aren't in the room." "Is that all you think about? The children? The children.
If she had known as much as all that, why should she have suffered so horribly that she had nearly died of it? Unless supposing it had been his suffering that she had nearly died of? Mrs. Norris on her left was saying that she was sorry to see Mr. Maurice looking so sadly; and Frances heard herself replying that Morrie hadn't been fit for anything since he was in South Africa.
Even the "Kid," with his careless, happy-go-lucky mind, would have admitted that; but as time passed without bringing a break in the monotony of waiting, we began to feel restless. The tension was still great, but the first sense of apprehension was gone. "I do wish something would happen," muttered "Hay," after a while. "Can you see anything from that port, 'Morrie'?"
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