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Updated: June 23, 2025
"Well, you're mistaken; I don't suppose I mind the Hallecks any more than they do me. I'll tell you why I stayed. Some people dropped down on Witherby, who were a little out of his line, fashionable people that he had asked to let him know if they ever came to Boston; and when they did come and let him know, he didn't know what to do about it, and he called on me to help him out.
"Yes, I have never complained of the amount of work. But upon this theory of yours, what you did in your summer vacation would not belong to the Events, or what you did on legal holidays." "I never have any summer vacation or holidays, legal or illegal. Even when I was down at Equity last summer I sent you something for the paper every day." This was true, and Witherby could not gainsay it.
It can't be true, is it? Here, here! Do take this fan. Or no, I'll fan you, if you'll let me sit on your knee! O poor thing, how hot you are! But I thought you wouldn't white for the Events; I thought you hated that old Witherby, who acted so ugly to you when you first came." "Oh, Witherby is a pretty good old fellow," said Bartley, who had begun to get his breath again.
"I hold that the first duty of a public journal is to make money for the owner; all the rest follows naturally." "You're quite right, Mr. Witherby," said Bartley. "Unless it makes money, there can be no enterprise about it, no independence, nothing. That was the way I did with my little paper down in Maine.
Draw your check for all you owe me, and pay me back the money I put into your stock, and I'll clear out at once." He went about putting together a few personal effects on his desk. "I must protest against any allusion to nefarious practices, Mr. Hubbard," said Witherby, "and I wish you to understand that I part from you without the slightest ill-feeling.
"Give them the benefit of the doubt," answered Bartley. "That's what I say." "And so would any other practical man!" said Witherby. "And that's just where Mr. Clayton and I differed. Well, I needn't allude to him any more," he added leniently. "What I wish to say is this, Mr. Hubbard. I am overworked, and I feel the need of some sort of relief.
Her devout faith in his success seemed to unnerve him, and he begged her not to believe in it so much. He seized what courage he had left in both hands, and found himself, after the usual reluctance of the people in the business office, face to face with Mr. Witherby in his private room. Mr.
With the American eagerness to recognize talent, numbers of good fellows spoke to him about his logging sketch; even those who had not read it seemed to know about it as a hit. They were all delighted to be able to say, "Ricker tells me that you offered it to old Witherby, and he wouldn't look at it!"
"Oh, some people that Witherby met in Portland at Willett's, who used to have the logging-camp out here." "That Montreal woman!" cried Marcia, with fatal divination. Bartley laughed. "Yes, Mrs. Macallister and her husband. She's a regular case. She'll amuse you." Marcia's passionate eyes blazed. "She shall never come to my picnic in the world!" "No?" Bartley looked at her in a certain way.
It was certainly a flattering proposal; and under his breath, where Bartley still did most of his blaspheming, he cursed Ricker for an old fool; and resolved to close with Witherby on his own responsibility. After he had done so he told Marcia of the step he had taken. Since their last quarrel there had been an alienation in her behavior toward him, different from any former resentment.
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