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Updated: June 12, 2025
"You ought to stop that. Those fellows are hunting Jerry Sheming." "Who is Jerry Sheming?" he asked, quickly. Mrs. Tingley explained briefly. "I remember now," said her husband. "And this is the young lady who spoke a good word for the boy in the first place?" and he beckoned the eager Ruth to them. "What have you to say for your protégé now, Miss?"
Handing back the lantern at the door, he said: "Give me your names." The men looked nonplussed, and shifted their weights uneasily from leg to leg. "You," said Peter, looking at the man who had interfered with him. "Wot do yer want with it?" he was asked. "That's my business. What's your name?" "John Tingley." "Where do you live?" "310 West 61st Street."
Tingley visited Europe and made numerous converts in England, Italy, France, Germany and the Scandinavian countries, while the Theosophical Conference held at Point Loma in 1915, in the interests of peace and universal brotherhood, was an immense success.
"If that panther eats them up they'll be more than well paid for spoiling our taffy." "Hush, Jennie!" commanded Madge. "This is no time for joking. How are we going to warn them and the men in the woods?" "And father?" cried Helen Cameron. "Oh, I wouldn't dare go out!" gasped Belle Tingley. But Ruth ran out into the big kitchen and opened the door.
"Oh! how deep can that place be?" gasped Ralph Tingley. "What will mother say?" cried his brother. "Ruth! Ruth!" shouted Ann Hicks, and dropped on her knees to crawl to the edge. "You'll be down there yourself, Ann!" exclaimed Helen, sobbing. "A couple of you useless boys grab me by the ankles," commanded the western girl. "Come! take a good hold. Now let me see "
The entire household of Tingley Lodge was out on the hunt for the lost ones. The boys and girls were home and in bed in another hour, and Mrs. Tingley was vastly relieved. "Never again will I take the responsibility of such a crowd!" declared the harassed lady. "My own children are enough; a dozen and a half active young ones like these would send me to the madhouse in another week!"
There was a driver by the name of Tingley on the Prescott line who had the run between Wickenburg and La Paz back in 1869. He had seen much Indian-fighting and was sufficiently seasoned to keep his head while the lead was flying around him. One February day he was on the box with two inside passengers, Joseph Todd of Prescott and George Jackson of Petaluma, California.
The property had been found in an old shed at Logwood where the boy had slept for a few nights after he had first been driven from Cliff Island. "Why, this is an old story, Blent," ejaculated Mr. Tingley, angrily. "The boy left that shed months ago.
He came directly to the island, when I hired him, from the neighborhood of Lumberton, and Preston assures me he hasn't been to Logwood since arriving." "You can tell all that in court," snarled Blent, waving his hand. "If he's got witnesses to clear him, I guess they'll be given a chance to testify." "You're a villain!" declared the city man. "Lemme tell you something, Mr. Tingley.
It seemed to her as though there were places in the sand on the floor of this latter tunnel which had been disturbed by human feet. "This is the path, I guess," she said, laughing and so hiding her own anxiety. "But let's take a good look at the place so we can find our way back to it if we have to return." "Huh!" grumbled Ralph Tingley. "You're not so awfully sure; are you?" "That's all right.
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