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"where can she be found, and will she sit for a 'Burke, two or three miscellaneous, and a 'study' for the annual sale," struck in Whittemore. "Is that it?" "Exactly. You've a natural ability for hitting the nail on the head, Phil." "And Burke told you to take a rest." Gregson offered his cigarettes.
One might have expected from between his bearded lips a voice as thrilling as his appearance; a rumbling voice, deep-chested, sonorous and it would have caused no surprise. It was the voice that surprised Philip more than the man. It was low, and trembling with an agitation which even strength and pride could not control. "Philip Whittemore, I am Henry d'Arcambal.
"Such hair! Such eyes! Such color! Laugh if you will, Whittemore, but I swear that she was the handsomest girl I've ever laid my eyes upon!" There was an artist's enthusiasm in Gregson's girlishly sensitive face as he looked across the table at Whittemore and lighted a cigarette. "She wouldn't so much as give me a look when I stared," he added. "I couldn't help it.
He made no reply as he waited for Whittemore to continue. For a full minute Philip paced back and forth without speaking. Then he stopped, and faced Gregson, who was staring at him. "A million, Greggy," he repeated, in the same soft voice. "A hundred thousand dollars to my credit in a First National Bank!
The student world had fallen prostrate at her feet, and Tom Whittemore most conspicuously and devotedly of all. Tom was, perhaps, the most popular man of his day; a Philadelphian of reputedly superfine stock, fresh-faced and athletic, with a jaunty walk.
There occurred to him, for an instant, a picture which he had once drawn of Whittemore as he had known him in certain stirring times still fresh in the memory of each a picture of the old, cool, irresistible Whittemore, smiling in the face of danger, laughing outright at perplexities, always ready to fight with a good-natured word on his lips.
Our sugar cost us fifty-four dollars and twenty-two cents; our milk fifty dollars and sixty-two; our cream ten dollars seventy-seven. "Buy your cream separate," says Hero, "if you have as good a milkman as Mr. Whittemore." You have not as many babies as we, Hero. When you have, you will not grudge the milk or the sugar. Lots of nourishment in sugar! Sugar and milk are another tenth.
Their story is, that they belonged to a brig from New York bound to Havana, which was cast away to the southward of Cape Henry, some day last week; that the brig was called the Maria, Captain Whittemore. I have no doubt they are deserters from some vessel in the bay, as their statements are very confused and inconsistent.
A second expedition, this time to Brazil, and then he came back to meet the girl of the hyacinth letter. And after that, after he had broken from the bondage which held Moody, and Fordney, and Whittemore, he went back to his many adventures. It was the North that held him.
"With your fist," cried Gregson, joyously. "Gad, but that was a mighty blow! I can see that knife now. I was just beginning my paternoster when chug! and down he went! And he deserved it. I said nothing wrong. In my very best Spanish I asked her if she would sit for me, and why the devil did he take that as an insult? And she was beautiful." "Of course," agreed Whittemore.
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