He sat alone in the library; she rapped softly at his door.
"Come in," he said kindly, and rose to meet her as she entered.
She motioned him back to his seat. "Stay, do not rise," was all she could say, and fell at his feet.
He lifted her gently, as a mother might have raised a weary child, and placed her beside him. Then, taking her hand, cold with excitement, in his own, said,--
"I knew, Florence, by my depression, that your grief called me home. Some slander has reached your ears. Is it not so?"
"It is. I have trusted and doubted, until I scarce know my own mind."
"Do you feel most at rest when you trust me?"
"I think-yes, I know I do. Forgive me," she continued, "if these shadows had not fallen so suddenly on my path, I never should for a moment have lost my trust in you. I have been shaken, convulsed, and scarce know my best thoughts."
"You have, indeed. I know not who have thus disturbed you, but may they never suffer as we both have, and more especially yourself. I say I know not, and yet my suspicions may not be entirely without foundation. And now remember, Florence, the moment you feel that I am not what your ideal of a friend and brother should be, that moment we had better part."
She started, and grew pale.
"I do not allude to the present, or to the scandal which has unnerved and disturbed your state; nor can I expect you who are learning to trust impressions rather than experiences, to feel otherwise than you have. It was natural. I only wonder that you did not go at once. Your remaining has shown me your worth, and a trait of character which I admire. Now that the ordeal is passed, I shall feel that you are my friend, even though slander, vile and dark, may be hurled against me, as it is possible, for I have a battle to fight for you, my friend, and all womankind. The rights of woman, which have been ignored, or thought but lightly of, I shall strongly advocate, as opportunity occurs. I shall be misunderstood, over and underrated in the contest, but for that I care not. I only am too impatient to see the day when your sex shall not marry for mere shelter, and when labor of all kinds shall be open for their heads and hands, with remuneration commensurate with their efforts. I am anxiously looking for the time when their right to vote shall be admitted them, not grudgingly, but freely and willingly given; for is not woman God's highest work, and his best gift to man? Now, if the shadows come again, in shape of scandal, think you, you can trust me?"
"I can. I do, and can never doubt again. Forgive the past. I was weak-"
"There is nothing to forgive," said Mr. Wyman, as he leaned over and kissed her forehead.
The seal of brotherhood was set, and Hugh and Florence knew from that hour the bond which bound them, and that it was pure and spotless.
Chapter 8
Mrs. Deane sat rocking, and casting impatient glances at the little clock upon the mantle. The book which she had an hour previous been deeply interested in, lay closed upon her lap, while the nervous glancing of her eye towards the door, told that she was anxiously awaiting the arrival of some one. The clock struck ten, and rising from her seat, she went to the window, and drawing the curtain aside, looked out on the soft summer night. It was one of those lovely evenings towards the close of the season, when the slightly chilled air reminds one of cosy firesides, and close companionship with those dearest to the heart. But her thoughts were not of a peaceful cast. She was alone, and jealous of him who had left her so. A moment later and the sound of footsteps was heard upon the piazza; a sound which in earlier years she had heard with thrills of pleasure. But to-night they only loosed the tension of long-pent passion, and selfish thoughts of neglect. She sank into a chair, and sat with the air of one deeply wronged, as her husband entered the room.
Monday, November 26, 2012
In the morning
In the morning, after Doctor Dalichamp had attended to his patient, he liked to sit a while and chat, putting his cares aside for the moment. Sometimes he also returned at evening and made a longer visit, and it was in this way that they learned what was going on in the great world outside their peaceful solitude and the terrible calamities that were desolating their country. He was their only source of intelligence; his heart, which beat with patriotic ardor, overflowed with rage and grief at every fresh defeat, and thus it was that his sole topic of conversation was the victorious progress of the Prussians, who, since Sedan, had spread themselves over France like the waves of some black ocean. Each day brought its own tidings of disaster, and resting disconsolately on one of the two chairs that stood by the bedside, he would tell in mournful tones and with trembling gestures of the increasing gravity of the situation. Oftentimes he came with his pockets stuffed with Belgian newspapers, which he would leave behind him when he went away. And thus the echoes of defeat, days, weeks, after the event, reverberated in that quiet room, serving to unite yet more closely in community of sorrow the two poor sufferers who were shut within its walls.
It was from some of those old newspapers that Henriette read to Jean the occurrences at Metz, the Titanic struggle that was three times renewed, separated on each occasion by a day's interval. The story was already five weeks old, but it was new to him, and he listened with a bleeding heart to the repetition of the miserable narrative of defeat to which he was not a stranger. In the deathly stillness of the room the incidents of the woeful tale unfolded themselves as Henriette, with the sing-song enunciation of a schoolgirl, picked out her words and sentences. When, after Froeschwiller and Spickeren, the 1st corps, routed and broken into fragments, had swept away with it the 5th, the other corps stationed along the frontier _en echelon_ from Metz to Bitche, first wavering, then retreating in their consternation at those reverses, had ultimately concentrated before the intrenched camp on the right bank of the Moselle. But what waste of precious time was there, when they should not have lost a moment in retreating on Paris, a movement that was presently to be attended with such difficulty! The Emperor had been compelled to turn over the supreme command to Marshal Bazaine, to whom everyone looked with confidence for a victory. Then, on the 14th[*] came the affair of Borny, when the army was attacked at the moment when it was at last about to cross the stream, having to sustain the onset of two German armies: Steinmetz's, which was encamped in observation in front of the intrenched camp, and Prince Frederick Charles's, which had passed the river higher up and come down along the left bank in order to bar the French from access to their country; Borny, where the firing did not begin until it was three o'clock; Borny, that barren victory, at the end of which the French remained masters of their positions, but which left them astride the Moselle, tied hand and foot, while the turning movement of the second German army was being successfully accomplished. After that, on the 16th, was the battle of Rezonville; all our corps were at last across the stream, although, owing to the confusion that prevailed at the junction of the Mars-la-Tour and Etain roads, which the Prussians had gained possession of early in the morning by a brilliant movement of their cavalry and artillery, the 3d and 4th corps were hindered in their march and unable to get up; a slow, dragging, confused battle, which, up to two o'clock, Bazaine, with only a handful of men opposed to him, should have won, but which he wound up by losing, thanks to his inexplicable fear of being cut off from Metz; a battle of immense extent, spreading over leagues of hill and plain, where the French, attacked in front and flank, seemed willing to do almost anything except advance, affording the enemy time to concentrate and to all appearances co-operating with them to ensure the success of the Prussian plan, which was to force their withdrawal to the other side of the river. And on the 18th, after their retirement to the intrenched camp, Saint-Privat was fought, the culmination of the gigantic struggle, where the line of battle extended more than eight miles in length, two hundred thousand Germans with seven hundred guns arrayed against a hundred and twenty thousand French with but five hundred guns, the Germans facing toward Germany, the French toward France, as if invaders and invaded had inverted their roles in the singular tactical movements that had been going on; after two o'clock the conflict was most sanguinary, the Prussian Guard being repulsed with tremendous slaughter and Bazaine, with a left wing that withstood the onsets of the enemy like a wall of adamant, for a long time victorious, up to the moment, at the approach of evening, when the weaker right wing was compelled by the terrific losses it had sustained to abandon Saint-Privat, involving in its rout the remainder of the army, which, defeated and driven back under the walls of Metz, was thenceforth to be imprisoned in a circle of flame and iron.
Blessed art Thou
"Blessed art Thou, O Saviour of Israel, who didst quell the violence of the mighty man by the hand of Thy servant David, and gavest the host of strangers into the hand of Jonathan, the son of Saul, and his armour-bearer! Shut up this army in the hand of Thy people Israel, and let them be confounded in their power and horsemen; make them to be of no courage, and cause the boldness of their strength to fall away, and let them quake in their destruction. Cast them down with the sword of them that love Thee, and let all those that know Thy Name praise Thee with thanksgiving!"
When the tones of the leader's voice were silent, there was for a moment a solemn stillness throughout the martial throng; then from their knees arose the brave sons of Abraham, prepared to "do or die."
Chapter 36 Bethsura
Her brief but momentous interview with Maccabeus had left a very painful impression upon the mind of Zarah. It had disclosed, to her distress as well as surprise, the depth of the wound which she was inflicting upon a loving heart; for Zarah had none of that miserable vanity which makes the meaner of her sex triumph in their power of giving pain. Zarah's apprehensions were also awakened on account of Lycidas; she could not but fear that very serious obstacles might arise to prevent her union with the Greek. Generous as Maccabeus might be, it was not in human nature that he should favour the claims of a rival; and determined opposition from her kinsman and prince must be annihilation to the hopes of the maiden. There would be in many Jewish minds prejudices against an Athenian; Zarah was aware of this, though not of the intense hatred to which such prejudices might lead. The short interview held with Maccabeus had sufficed to cover Zarah's bright sky with clouds, to darken her hopes, to distress her conscience, to make her uneasily question herself as to whether she were indeed erring by giving her heart to a stranger. Had she really spoken truth when she had said, "Hadassah would not have blamed us?"
But when Anna, pale with excitement, brought tidings to her young mistress that the Hebrews were marching to battle, when Zarah heard that the decisive hour had come on which hung the fate of her country, and with it that of Lycidas, all other fears yielded for a time to one absorbing terror. On her knees, with hands clasped in attitude of prayer, yet scarcely able to pray, Zarah listened breathlessly to the fearful sounds which were borne on the breeze--the confused noises, the yells, the shouting--which brought vividly to her mind all the horrors of the scene passing so near her. It was not needful for her to look on the raging torrent of war; imagination but too readily pictured the streams of opposing warriors, like floods from opposite mountains, mingling and struggling together in a wild whirlpool of death; chariots dragged by maddened horses over gory heaps of the slain--the flight of hurtling arrows--the whirl of the deadly axe--the crash--the cry--the rush--the retreat--the rally--the flashing weapons, now dimmed with blood;--Zarah in thought beheld them all, and covered her eyes with horror, as if by so doing she could shut out the sight.
When the tones of the leader's voice were silent, there was for a moment a solemn stillness throughout the martial throng; then from their knees arose the brave sons of Abraham, prepared to "do or die."
Chapter 36 Bethsura
Her brief but momentous interview with Maccabeus had left a very painful impression upon the mind of Zarah. It had disclosed, to her distress as well as surprise, the depth of the wound which she was inflicting upon a loving heart; for Zarah had none of that miserable vanity which makes the meaner of her sex triumph in their power of giving pain. Zarah's apprehensions were also awakened on account of Lycidas; she could not but fear that very serious obstacles might arise to prevent her union with the Greek. Generous as Maccabeus might be, it was not in human nature that he should favour the claims of a rival; and determined opposition from her kinsman and prince must be annihilation to the hopes of the maiden. There would be in many Jewish minds prejudices against an Athenian; Zarah was aware of this, though not of the intense hatred to which such prejudices might lead. The short interview held with Maccabeus had sufficed to cover Zarah's bright sky with clouds, to darken her hopes, to distress her conscience, to make her uneasily question herself as to whether she were indeed erring by giving her heart to a stranger. Had she really spoken truth when she had said, "Hadassah would not have blamed us?"
But when Anna, pale with excitement, brought tidings to her young mistress that the Hebrews were marching to battle, when Zarah heard that the decisive hour had come on which hung the fate of her country, and with it that of Lycidas, all other fears yielded for a time to one absorbing terror. On her knees, with hands clasped in attitude of prayer, yet scarcely able to pray, Zarah listened breathlessly to the fearful sounds which were borne on the breeze--the confused noises, the yells, the shouting--which brought vividly to her mind all the horrors of the scene passing so near her. It was not needful for her to look on the raging torrent of war; imagination but too readily pictured the streams of opposing warriors, like floods from opposite mountains, mingling and struggling together in a wild whirlpool of death; chariots dragged by maddened horses over gory heaps of the slain--the flight of hurtling arrows--the whirl of the deadly axe--the crash--the cry--the rush--the retreat--the rally--the flashing weapons, now dimmed with blood;--Zarah in thought beheld them all, and covered her eyes with horror, as if by so doing she could shut out the sight.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Mrs Chick dried her eyes
Mrs Chick dried her eyes, which were, for the moment, overflowing; and proceeded:
'And consequently he is more than ever bound to make an effort. And though his having done so, comes upon me with a sort of shock - for mine is a very weak and foolish nature; which is anything but a blessing I am sure; I often wish my heart was a marble slab, or a paving-stone -
'My sweet Louisa,' remonstrated Miss Tox again.
'Still, it is a triumph to me to know that he is so true to himself,jeremy scott adidas wings, and to his name of Dombey; although, of course, I always knew he would be. I only hope,' said Mrs Chick, after a pause, 'that she may be worthy of the name too.
Miss Tox filled a little green watering-pot from a jug, and happening to look up when she had done so, was so surprised by the amount of expression Mrs Chick had conveyed into her face, and was bestowing upon her, that she put the little watering-pot on the table for the present, and sat down near it.
'My dear Louisa,' said Miss Tox, 'will it be the least satisfaction to you, if I venture to observe in reference to that remark, that I, as a humble individual, think your sweet niece in every way most promising?~ 'What do you mean, Lucretia?' returned Mrs Chick, with increased stateliness of manner. 'To what remark of mine, my dear, do you refer?'
'Her being worthy of her name, my love,' replied Miss Tox.
'If,' said Mrs Chick, with solemn patience, 'I have not expressed myself with clearness, Lucretia, the fault of course is mine. There is, perhaps, no reason why I should express myself at all, except the intimacy that has subsisted between us, and which I very much hope, Lucretia - confidently hope - nothing will occur to disturb. Because, why should I do anything else? There is no reason; it would be absurd. But I wish to express myself clearly,jeremy scott adidas, Lucretia; and therefore to go back to that remark, I must beg to say that it was not intended to relate to Florence, in any way.'
'Indeed!' returned Miss Tox.
'No,' said Mrs Chick shortly and decisively.
'Pardon me, my dear,' rejoined her meek friend; 'but I cannot have understood it. I fear I am dull.'
Mrs Chick looked round the room and over the way; at the plants, at the bird, at the watering-pot, at almost everything within view, except Miss Tox; and finally dropping her glance upon Miss Tox, for a moment, on its way to the ground, said, looking meanwhile with elevated eyebrows at the carpet:
'When I speak, Lucretia, of her being worthy of the name, I speak of my brother Paul's second wife. I believe I have already said,fake rolex watches, in effect, if not in the very words I now use, that it is his intention to marry a second wife.'
Miss Tox left her seat in a hurry, and returned to her plants; clipping among the stems and leaves, with as little favour as a barber working at so many pauper heads of hair.
'Whether she will be fully sensible of the distinction conferred upon her,' said Mrs Chick, in a lofty tone, 'is quite another question,Home Page. I hope she may be. We are bound to think well of one another in this world, and I hope she may be. I have not been advised with myself If I had been advised with, I have no doubt my advice would have been cavalierly received, and therefore it is infinitely better as it is. I much prefer it as it is.'
'And consequently he is more than ever bound to make an effort. And though his having done so, comes upon me with a sort of shock - for mine is a very weak and foolish nature; which is anything but a blessing I am sure; I often wish my heart was a marble slab, or a paving-stone -
'My sweet Louisa,' remonstrated Miss Tox again.
'Still, it is a triumph to me to know that he is so true to himself,jeremy scott adidas wings, and to his name of Dombey; although, of course, I always knew he would be. I only hope,' said Mrs Chick, after a pause, 'that she may be worthy of the name too.
Miss Tox filled a little green watering-pot from a jug, and happening to look up when she had done so, was so surprised by the amount of expression Mrs Chick had conveyed into her face, and was bestowing upon her, that she put the little watering-pot on the table for the present, and sat down near it.
'My dear Louisa,' said Miss Tox, 'will it be the least satisfaction to you, if I venture to observe in reference to that remark, that I, as a humble individual, think your sweet niece in every way most promising?~ 'What do you mean, Lucretia?' returned Mrs Chick, with increased stateliness of manner. 'To what remark of mine, my dear, do you refer?'
'Her being worthy of her name, my love,' replied Miss Tox.
'If,' said Mrs Chick, with solemn patience, 'I have not expressed myself with clearness, Lucretia, the fault of course is mine. There is, perhaps, no reason why I should express myself at all, except the intimacy that has subsisted between us, and which I very much hope, Lucretia - confidently hope - nothing will occur to disturb. Because, why should I do anything else? There is no reason; it would be absurd. But I wish to express myself clearly,jeremy scott adidas, Lucretia; and therefore to go back to that remark, I must beg to say that it was not intended to relate to Florence, in any way.'
'Indeed!' returned Miss Tox.
'No,' said Mrs Chick shortly and decisively.
'Pardon me, my dear,' rejoined her meek friend; 'but I cannot have understood it. I fear I am dull.'
Mrs Chick looked round the room and over the way; at the plants, at the bird, at the watering-pot, at almost everything within view, except Miss Tox; and finally dropping her glance upon Miss Tox, for a moment, on its way to the ground, said, looking meanwhile with elevated eyebrows at the carpet:
'When I speak, Lucretia, of her being worthy of the name, I speak of my brother Paul's second wife. I believe I have already said,fake rolex watches, in effect, if not in the very words I now use, that it is his intention to marry a second wife.'
Miss Tox left her seat in a hurry, and returned to her plants; clipping among the stems and leaves, with as little favour as a barber working at so many pauper heads of hair.
'Whether she will be fully sensible of the distinction conferred upon her,' said Mrs Chick, in a lofty tone, 'is quite another question,Home Page. I hope she may be. We are bound to think well of one another in this world, and I hope she may be. I have not been advised with myself If I had been advised with, I have no doubt my advice would have been cavalierly received, and therefore it is infinitely better as it is. I much prefer it as it is.'
Chapter 18 He explained to Nancy
Chapter 18
He explained to Nancy, when she asked about his work, that he'd had "an irreversible aesthetic vasectomy."
"Something will start you again," she said, accepting the hyperbolic language with an absolving laugh. She had been permeated by the quality of her mother's kindness, by the inability to remain aloof from another's need, by the day-to-day earthborn soulfulness that he had disastrously undervalued and thrown away — thrown away without beginning to realize all he would subsequently live without.
"I don't think it will," he was saying to their daughter. "There's a reason I was never a painter. I've run smack up against it."
"The reason you weren't a painter," Nancy explained, "is because you've had wives and children. You had mouths to feed. You had responsibilities."
"The reason I wasn't a painter was because I'm not a painter. Not then and not now."
"Oh, Dad—"
"No, listen to me. All I've been doing is doodling away the time."
"You're just upset right now. Don't insult yourself — it's not so. I know it's not so. I have your paintings all over my apartment. I look at them every day, and I can promise you I'm not looking at doodlings. People come over — they look at them. They ask me who the artist is. They pay attention to them. They ask if the artist is living."
"What do you tell them?"
"Listen to me now: they're not responding to doodlings. They're responding to work. To work that is beautiful. And of course," she said, and now with that laugh that left him feeling washed clean and, in his seventies, infatuated with his girl-child all over again, "of course I tell them you're living. I tell them my father painted these, and I'm so proud to say that."
"Good, sweetie."
"I've got a little gallery going here."
"That's good — that makes me feel good."
"You're just frustrated now,http://www.rolexsubmarinerreplicas.com/. It's just that simple. You're a wonderful painter. I know what I'm talking about. If there's anybody in this world equipped to know if you're a wonderful painter or not, it's me."
After all he'd put her through by betraying Phoebe, she still wanted to praise him. From the age of ten she'd been like that — a pure and sensible girl, besmirched only by her unstinting generosity,ladies rolex presidents, harmlessly hiding from unhappiness by blotting out the faults of everyone dear to her and by overloving love. Baling forgiveness as though it were so much hay. The harm inevitably came when she concealed from herself just a little too much that was wanting in the makeup of the ostentatiously brilliant young crybaby she had fallen for and married.
"And it's not just me, Dad. It's everybody who comes. I was interviewing babysitters the other day, because Molly can't do it anymore. I was interviewing for a new babysitter and this wonderful girl I ended up hiring, Tanya — she's a student looking to earn some extra money, she's at the Art Students League just like you were — she couldn't take her eyes off the one I have in the dining room, over the sideboard, the yellow one — you know the one I mean,rolex submariner replica watches?"
"Yes."
"She couldn't take her eyes off it. The yellow and black one. It was really quite something. I was asking her these questions and she was focused over the sideboard,ugg boots uk. She asked when it was painted and where I had bought it. There's something very compelling about your work."
He explained to Nancy, when she asked about his work, that he'd had "an irreversible aesthetic vasectomy."
"Something will start you again," she said, accepting the hyperbolic language with an absolving laugh. She had been permeated by the quality of her mother's kindness, by the inability to remain aloof from another's need, by the day-to-day earthborn soulfulness that he had disastrously undervalued and thrown away — thrown away without beginning to realize all he would subsequently live without.
"I don't think it will," he was saying to their daughter. "There's a reason I was never a painter. I've run smack up against it."
"The reason you weren't a painter," Nancy explained, "is because you've had wives and children. You had mouths to feed. You had responsibilities."
"The reason I wasn't a painter was because I'm not a painter. Not then and not now."
"Oh, Dad—"
"No, listen to me. All I've been doing is doodling away the time."
"You're just upset right now. Don't insult yourself — it's not so. I know it's not so. I have your paintings all over my apartment. I look at them every day, and I can promise you I'm not looking at doodlings. People come over — they look at them. They ask me who the artist is. They pay attention to them. They ask if the artist is living."
"What do you tell them?"
"Listen to me now: they're not responding to doodlings. They're responding to work. To work that is beautiful. And of course," she said, and now with that laugh that left him feeling washed clean and, in his seventies, infatuated with his girl-child all over again, "of course I tell them you're living. I tell them my father painted these, and I'm so proud to say that."
"Good, sweetie."
"I've got a little gallery going here."
"That's good — that makes me feel good."
"You're just frustrated now,http://www.rolexsubmarinerreplicas.com/. It's just that simple. You're a wonderful painter. I know what I'm talking about. If there's anybody in this world equipped to know if you're a wonderful painter or not, it's me."
After all he'd put her through by betraying Phoebe, she still wanted to praise him. From the age of ten she'd been like that — a pure and sensible girl, besmirched only by her unstinting generosity,ladies rolex presidents, harmlessly hiding from unhappiness by blotting out the faults of everyone dear to her and by overloving love. Baling forgiveness as though it were so much hay. The harm inevitably came when she concealed from herself just a little too much that was wanting in the makeup of the ostentatiously brilliant young crybaby she had fallen for and married.
"And it's not just me, Dad. It's everybody who comes. I was interviewing babysitters the other day, because Molly can't do it anymore. I was interviewing for a new babysitter and this wonderful girl I ended up hiring, Tanya — she's a student looking to earn some extra money, she's at the Art Students League just like you were — she couldn't take her eyes off the one I have in the dining room, over the sideboard, the yellow one — you know the one I mean,rolex submariner replica watches?"
"Yes."
"She couldn't take her eyes off it. The yellow and black one. It was really quite something. I was asking her these questions and she was focused over the sideboard,ugg boots uk. She asked when it was painted and where I had bought it. There's something very compelling about your work."
Friday, November 23, 2012
If he had known how her heart danced in her bosom
If he had known how her heart danced in her bosom, her eyesbrightened, and all the world became endurable, the moment heappeared, he would not have been so long in joining her, nor havedoubted what welcome awaited him.
As it was, he stopped to speak to his host; and, before hereappeared, Christie had found the excitement she had been longingfor.
"Now some bore will keep him an hour, and the evening is so short,"she thought, with a pang of disappointment; and, turning her eyesaway from the crowd which had swallowed up her heart's desire, theyfell upon a gentleman just entering, and remained fixed with anexpression of unutterable surprise; for there, elegant, calm, andcool as ever, stood Mr. Fletcher.
"How came he here?" was her first question; "How will he behave tome?" her second. As she could answer neither, she composed herselfas fast as possible, resolving to let matters take their own course,and feeling in the mood for an encounter with a discarded lover, asshe took a womanish satisfaction in remembering that the verypersonable gentleman before her had once been.
Mr. Fletcher and his companion passed on to find their host; and,with a glance at the mirror opposite, which showed her that thesurprise of the moment had given her the color she lacked before,Christie occupied herself with a portfolio of engravings, feelingvery much as she used to feel when waiting at a side scene for hercue.
She had not long to wait before Mr. Power came up, and presented thestranger; for such he fancied him, never having heard a certainepisode in Christie's life. Mr. Fletcher bowed, with no sign ofrecognition in his face, and began to talk in the smooth, low voiceshe remembered so well. For the moment, through sheer surprise,Christie listened and replied as any young lady might have done to anew-made acquaintance. But very soon she felt sure that Mr. Fletcherintended to ignore the past; and, finding her on a higher round ofthe social ladder, to accept the fact and begin again.
At first she was angry, then amused, then interested in the somewhatdramatic turn affairs were taking, and very wisely decided to meethim on his own ground, and see what came of it.
In the midst of an apparently absorbing discussion of one ofRaphael's most insipid Madonnas, she was conscious that David hadapproached, paused, and was scrutinizing her companion with unusualinterest. Seized with a sudden desire to see the two men together,Christie beckoned; and when he obeyed, she introduced him, drew himinto the conversation, and then left him in the lurch by fallingsilent and taking notes while they talked.
If she wished to wean her heart from David by seeing him at adisadvantage, she could have devised no better way; for, though avery feminine test, it answered the purpose excellently.
Mr. Fletcher was a handsome man, and just then looked his best.
Improved health gave energy and color to his formerly sallow,listless face: the cold eyes were softer, the hard mouth suave andsmiling, and about the whole man there was that indescribablesomething which often proves more attractive than worth or wisdom tokeener-sighted women than Christie. Never had he talked better; for,as if he suspected what was in the mind of one hearer, he exertedhimself to be as brilliant as possible, and succeeded admirably.
At the Kranks'
At the Kranks', Spike rang the doorbell but got no response. Mr. Krank's Lexus was not there, which was certainly not unusual at 5 P.M. But Mrs. Krank's Audi was in the garage, a sure sign that she was home. The curtains and shades were pulled. No answer at the door though, and the gang moved to the Seekers', where Ned was in the front yard washing his Frosty with his mother-in-law barking instructions from the steps.
"They're leaving now," Nora whispered into the phone in their bedroom.
"Why are you whispering?" Luther asked with agitation.
"Because I don't want them to hear me."
"Who is it?"
"Vic Frohmeyer, Wes Trogdon, looks like that Brixley fellow from the other end of the street, some kids."
"A regular bunch of thugs, huh?"
"More like a street gang. They're at the Beckers' now."
"God help them."
"Where's Frosty?" she asked.
"Same place he's been since January. Why?"
"Oh, I don't know."
"This is comical, Nora. You're whispering into the phone, in a locked house, because our neighbors are going door to door helping our other neighbors put up a ridiculous seven-foot plastic snowman, which, by the way, has absolutely nothing to do with Christmas. Ever think about that, Nora?"
"No."
"We voted for Rudolph, remember?"
"It's comical."
"I'm not laughing."
"Frosty's taking a year off, okay? The answer is no."
Luther hung, up gently and tried to concentrate on his work. After dark, he drove home, slowly, all the way telling himself that it was silly to be worried about such trivial matters as putting a snowman on the roof. And all the way he kept thinking of Walt Scheel.
"Come on, Scheel," he mumbled to himself. "Don't let me down."
Walt Scheel was his rival on Hemlock, a grumpy sort who lived directly across the street. Two kids out of college, a wife battling breast cancer, a mysterious job with a Belgian conglom, an income that appeared to be in the upper range on Hemlock-but regardless of what he earned Scheel and the missus expected their neighbors to think they had a lot more. Luther bought a Lexus, Scheel had to have one. Bellington put in a pool, Scheel suddenly needed to swim in his own backyard, doctor's orders. Sue Kropp on the west end outfitted her kitchen with designer appliances-$8,000 was the rumor-and Bev Scheel spent $9,000 six months later.
A hopeless cook, Bev's cuisine tasted worse after the renovation, according to witnesses.
Their haughtiness had been stopped cold, however, with the breast cancer eighteen months earlier. The Scheels had been humbled mightily. Keeping ahead of the neighbors didn't matter anymore. Things were useless. They had endured the disease with a quiet dignity, and, as usual, Hemlock had supported them like family. A year after the first chemo, the Belgian conglom had reshuffled itself. Whatever Walt's job had been, it was now something less.
The Christmas before the Scheels had been too distracted to decorate. No Frosty for them, not much of a tree, just a few lights strung around the front window, almost an afterthought.
A year earlier, two houses on Hemlock had gone without Frostys-the Scheels' and one on the west end owned by a Pakistani couple who'd lived there three months then moved away. It had been for sale, and Frohmeyer had actually considered ordering another Frosty and conducting a nighttime raid on the premises to erect it.
"They're leaving now," Nora whispered into the phone in their bedroom.
"Why are you whispering?" Luther asked with agitation.
"Because I don't want them to hear me."
"Who is it?"
"Vic Frohmeyer, Wes Trogdon, looks like that Brixley fellow from the other end of the street, some kids."
"A regular bunch of thugs, huh?"
"More like a street gang. They're at the Beckers' now."
"God help them."
"Where's Frosty?" she asked.
"Same place he's been since January. Why?"
"Oh, I don't know."
"This is comical, Nora. You're whispering into the phone, in a locked house, because our neighbors are going door to door helping our other neighbors put up a ridiculous seven-foot plastic snowman, which, by the way, has absolutely nothing to do with Christmas. Ever think about that, Nora?"
"No."
"We voted for Rudolph, remember?"
"It's comical."
"I'm not laughing."
"Frosty's taking a year off, okay? The answer is no."
Luther hung, up gently and tried to concentrate on his work. After dark, he drove home, slowly, all the way telling himself that it was silly to be worried about such trivial matters as putting a snowman on the roof. And all the way he kept thinking of Walt Scheel.
"Come on, Scheel," he mumbled to himself. "Don't let me down."
Walt Scheel was his rival on Hemlock, a grumpy sort who lived directly across the street. Two kids out of college, a wife battling breast cancer, a mysterious job with a Belgian conglom, an income that appeared to be in the upper range on Hemlock-but regardless of what he earned Scheel and the missus expected their neighbors to think they had a lot more. Luther bought a Lexus, Scheel had to have one. Bellington put in a pool, Scheel suddenly needed to swim in his own backyard, doctor's orders. Sue Kropp on the west end outfitted her kitchen with designer appliances-$8,000 was the rumor-and Bev Scheel spent $9,000 six months later.
A hopeless cook, Bev's cuisine tasted worse after the renovation, according to witnesses.
Their haughtiness had been stopped cold, however, with the breast cancer eighteen months earlier. The Scheels had been humbled mightily. Keeping ahead of the neighbors didn't matter anymore. Things were useless. They had endured the disease with a quiet dignity, and, as usual, Hemlock had supported them like family. A year after the first chemo, the Belgian conglom had reshuffled itself. Whatever Walt's job had been, it was now something less.
The Christmas before the Scheels had been too distracted to decorate. No Frosty for them, not much of a tree, just a few lights strung around the front window, almost an afterthought.
A year earlier, two houses on Hemlock had gone without Frostys-the Scheels' and one on the west end owned by a Pakistani couple who'd lived there three months then moved away. It had been for sale, and Frohmeyer had actually considered ordering another Frosty and conducting a nighttime raid on the premises to erect it.
Thursday, November 22, 2012
For a while
For a while, he walked around the cemetery taking photographs. These wouldn’t be for publication; they would serve as comparison points in case he came across earlier photographs of the cemetery. He wanted to see how it had changed over the years, and it might benefit him to know when—or why—the damage had occurred. He snapped a picture of the magnolia tree as well. It was easily the largest he’d ever seen. Its black trunk was wizened, and the low-hanging branches would have kept him and his brothers occupied for hours when they were boys. If it weren’t surrounded by dead people, that is.
As he was flicking through the digital photos to make sure they were sufficient, he saw movement from the corner of his eye.
Glancing up, he saw a woman walking toward him. Dressed in jeans, boots, and a light blue sweater that matched the canvas bag she was carrying, she had brown hair that lightly swept her shoulders. Her skin, with just a hint of olive, made makeup unnecessary, but it was the color of her eyes that caught him: from a distance, they appeared almost violet. Whoever she was, she’d parked her car directly behind his.
For a moment, he wondered whether she was approaching him to ask him to leave. Maybe the cemetery was condemned and now off-limits. Then again, perhaps her visit here was simply a coincidence.
She continued moving toward him.
Come to think of it, a rather attractive coincidence. Jeremy straightened as he slipped the camera back into its case. He smiled broadly as she neared.
“Well, hello there,” he said.
At his comment, she slowed her gait slightly, as if she hadn’t noticed him. Her expression seemed almost amused, and he half expected her to stop. Instead, he thought he caught the sound of her laughter as she walked right by.
With eyebrows raised in appreciation, Jeremy watched her go. She didn’t look back. Before he could stop himself, he took a step after her.
“Hey!” he called out.
Instead of stopping, she simply turned and continued walking backward, her head tilted inquisitively. Again, Jeremy saw the same amused expression.
“You know, you really shouldn’t stare like that,” she called out. “Women like a man who knows how to be subtle.”
She turned again, adjusted the canvas bag on her shoulder, and kept on going. In the distance, he heard her laugh again.
Jeremy stood openmouthed, for once at a loss as to how to respond.
Okay, so she wasn’t interested. No big deal. Still, most people would have at least said hello in response. Maybe it was a southern thing. Maybe guys hit on her all the time and she was tired of it. Or maybe she simply didn’t want to be interrupted while she did . . . did . . .
Did what?
See, that was the problem with journalism, he sighed. It made him too curious. Really, it was none of his business. And besides, he reminded himself, it’s a cemetery. She was probably here to visit the departed. People did that all the time, didn’t they?
He wrinkled his brow. The only difference was that most cemeteries looked as if someone came by to mow the lawn now and then, while this one looked like San Francisco after the earthquake in 1906. He supposed he could have headed in her direction to see what she was up to, but he’d talked to enough women to realize that spying might come across as far more creepy than staring. And she didn’t seem to like his staring.
Each of the nine egwugwu represented a village of the clan
Each of the nine egwugwu represented a village of the clan. Their leader was called Evil Forest. Smoke poured out of his head.
The nine villages of Umuofia had grown out of the nine sons of the first father of the clan. Evil Forest represented the village of Umueru, or the children of Eru, who was the eldest of the nine sons.
"Umuofia kwenu!" shouted the leading egwugwu, pushing the air with his raffia arms. The elders of the clan replied, "Yaa!"
."Umuofia kwenu!"
"Yaa!"
"Umuofia kwenu!"
"Yaa!"
Evil Forest then thrust the pointed end of his rattling staff into the earth. And it began to shake and rattle, like something agitating with a metallic life. He took the first of the empty stools and the eight other egwugwu began to sit in order of seniority after him.
Okonkwo's wives, and perhaps other women as well, might have noticed that the second egwugwu had the springy
walk of Okonkwo. And they might also have noticed that Okonkwo was not among the titled men and elders who sat behind the row of egwugwu. But if they thought these things they kept them within themselves. The egwugwu with the springy walk was one of the dead fathers of the clan. He looked terrible with the smoked raffia "body, a huge wooden face painted white except for the round hollow eyes and the charred teeth that were as big as a man's fingers. On his head were two powerful horns.
When all the egwugwu had sat down and the sound of the many tiny bells and rattles on their bodies had subsided, Evil Forest addressed the two groups of people facing them.
"Uzowulu's body, I salute you," he said. Spirits always addressed humans as "bodies." Uzowulu bent down and touched the earth with his right hand as a sign of submission.
"Our father, my hand has touched the ground," he said.
"Uzowulu's body, do you know me?" asked the spirit.
"How can I know you, father? You are beyond our knowledge."
Evil Forest then turned to the other group and addressed the eldest of the three brothers.
"The body of Odukwe, I greet you," he said, and Odukwe bent down and touched the earth. The hearing then began.
Uzowulu stepped forward and presented his case.
"That woman standing there is my wife, Mgbafo. I married her with my money and my yams. I do not owe my inlaws anything. I owe them no yams. 1 owe them no cocoyams. One morning three of them came to my house, beat me up and took my wife and children away. This happened in the rainy season. I have waited in vain for my wife to return. At last I went to my in-laws and said to them, 'You have taken back your sister. I did not send her away. You yourselves took her. The law of the clan is that you should return her bride-price.' But my wife's brothers said they had nothing to tell me. So I have brought the matter to the fathers of the clan. My case is finished. I salute you."
"Your words are good," said the leader of the ecjwucjwu. "Let us hear Odukwe. His words may also be good."
Odukwe was short and thickset. He stepped forward, saluted the spirits and began his story.
"My in-law has told you that we went to his house, beat him up and took our sister and her children away. All that is true. He told you that he came to take back her bride-price and we refused to give it him. That also is true. My in-law, Uzowulu, is a beast. My sister lived with him for nine years. During those years no single day passed in the sky without his beating the woman. We have tried to settle their quarrels time without number and on each occasion Uzowulu was guilty—"
The nine villages of Umuofia had grown out of the nine sons of the first father of the clan. Evil Forest represented the village of Umueru, or the children of Eru, who was the eldest of the nine sons.
"Umuofia kwenu!" shouted the leading egwugwu, pushing the air with his raffia arms. The elders of the clan replied, "Yaa!"
."Umuofia kwenu!"
"Yaa!"
"Umuofia kwenu!"
"Yaa!"
Evil Forest then thrust the pointed end of his rattling staff into the earth. And it began to shake and rattle, like something agitating with a metallic life. He took the first of the empty stools and the eight other egwugwu began to sit in order of seniority after him.
Okonkwo's wives, and perhaps other women as well, might have noticed that the second egwugwu had the springy
walk of Okonkwo. And they might also have noticed that Okonkwo was not among the titled men and elders who sat behind the row of egwugwu. But if they thought these things they kept them within themselves. The egwugwu with the springy walk was one of the dead fathers of the clan. He looked terrible with the smoked raffia "body, a huge wooden face painted white except for the round hollow eyes and the charred teeth that were as big as a man's fingers. On his head were two powerful horns.
When all the egwugwu had sat down and the sound of the many tiny bells and rattles on their bodies had subsided, Evil Forest addressed the two groups of people facing them.
"Uzowulu's body, I salute you," he said. Spirits always addressed humans as "bodies." Uzowulu bent down and touched the earth with his right hand as a sign of submission.
"Our father, my hand has touched the ground," he said.
"Uzowulu's body, do you know me?" asked the spirit.
"How can I know you, father? You are beyond our knowledge."
Evil Forest then turned to the other group and addressed the eldest of the three brothers.
"The body of Odukwe, I greet you," he said, and Odukwe bent down and touched the earth. The hearing then began.
Uzowulu stepped forward and presented his case.
"That woman standing there is my wife, Mgbafo. I married her with my money and my yams. I do not owe my inlaws anything. I owe them no yams. 1 owe them no cocoyams. One morning three of them came to my house, beat me up and took my wife and children away. This happened in the rainy season. I have waited in vain for my wife to return. At last I went to my in-laws and said to them, 'You have taken back your sister. I did not send her away. You yourselves took her. The law of the clan is that you should return her bride-price.' But my wife's brothers said they had nothing to tell me. So I have brought the matter to the fathers of the clan. My case is finished. I salute you."
"Your words are good," said the leader of the ecjwucjwu. "Let us hear Odukwe. His words may also be good."
Odukwe was short and thickset. He stepped forward, saluted the spirits and began his story.
"My in-law has told you that we went to his house, beat him up and took our sister and her children away. All that is true. He told you that he came to take back her bride-price and we refused to give it him. That also is true. My in-law, Uzowulu, is a beast. My sister lived with him for nine years. During those years no single day passed in the sky without his beating the woman. We have tried to settle their quarrels time without number and on each occasion Uzowulu was guilty—"
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
It is warm
"It is warm, and has a muddy taste," he answered. "It's like water from the river."
"Water from the river?" repeated Therese.
And she burst out sobbing. A juncture of ideas had just occurred in her mind.
"Why do you cry?" asked Laurent, who foresaw the answer, and turned pale.
"I cry," sobbed the young woman, "I cry because--you know why--Oh! Great God! Great God! It was you who killed him."
"You lie!" shouted the murderer vehemently, "confess that you lie. If I threw him into the Seine, it was you who urged me to commit the murder."
"I! I!" she exclaimed.
"Yes, you! Don't act the ignorant," he replied, "don't compel me to force you to tell the truth. I want you to confess your crime, to take your share in the murder. It will tranquillise and relieve me."
"But _I_ did not drown Camille," she pleaded.
"Yes, you did, a thousand times yes!" he shouted. "Oh! You feign astonishment and want of memory. Wait a moment, I will recall your recollections."
Rising from table, he bent over the young woman, and with crimson countenance, yelled in her face:
"You were on the river bank, you remember, and I said to you in an undertone: 'I am going to pitch him into the water.' Then you agreed to it, you got into the boat. You see that we murdered him together."
"It is not true," she answered. "I was crazy, I don't know what I did, but I never wanted to kill him. You alone committed the crime."
These denials tortured Laurent. As he had said, the idea of having an accomplice relieved him. Had he dared, he would have attempted to prove to himself that all the horror of the murder fell upon Therese. He more than once felt inclined to beat the young woman, so as to make her confess that she was the more guilty of the two.
He began striding up and down, shouting and raving, followed by the piercing eyes of Madame Raquin.
"Ah! The wretch! The wretch!" he stammered in a choking voice, "she wants to drive me mad. Look, did you not come up to my room one evening, did you not intoxicate me with your caresses to persuade me to rid you of your husband? You told me, when I visited you here, that he displeased you, that he had the odour of a sickly child. Did I think of all this three years ago? Was I a rascal? I was leading the peaceful existence of an upright man, doing no harm to anybody. I would not have killed a fly."
"It was you who killed Camille," repeated Therese with such desperate obstinacy that she made Laurent lose his head.
"No, it was you, I say it was you," he retorted with a terrible burst of rage. "Look here, don't exasperate me, or if you do you'll suffer for it. What, you wretch, have you forgotten everything? You who maddened me with your caresses! Confess that it was all a calculation in your mind, that you hated Camille, and that you had wanted to kill him for a long time. No doubt you took me as a sweetheart, so as to drive me to put an end to him."
"It is not true," said she. "What you relate is monstrous. You have no right to reproach me with my weakness towards you. I can speak in regard to you, as you speak of me. Before I knew you, I was a good woman, who never wronged a soul. If I drove you mad, it was you made me madder still. Listen Laurent, don't let us quarrel. I have too much to reproach you with."
Chap IX Hung Then Tom drest himself then Tom took Rupert to the puliese cort Rupert was hung for kil
Chap IX Hung Then Tom drest himself then Tom took Rupert to the puliese cort Rupert was hung for killing the pulies man. I hope this story will be aleson to you never to bet.
Mulia Pecunia
Chapter I Sir Alfred James, a great collector of books, one day chanced to look at an old volume which had the curious name of “Multa Pecunia,” which told him that under his house there was a cave in which was untold of wealth. He did not trouble to read any more, for he had heard the yarn before, and did not believe it,fake delaine ugg boots. When Tom came home, being Sir Alfred’s son, he was treated with great respect by the servants and therefore was allowed to go into every nook and corner of the house. He was in a little poky room one day, when he saw this carving “Multa Pecunia.” He stared for some time at the carving,cheap jeremy scott adidas, when suddenly he remembered seeing a book in the library with the same title,http://www.rolexsubmarinerreplica1.com. Immediately he ran to the library and took out the catalogue. There he saw these words, “Multa Pecunia, shelf 7, place 13.” He was immediately at shelf 7, but place 13 was empty!
Chapter II What could it mean? Why had the book gone? He was quite bewildered. “Jumping Golliwogs” cried Tom at last, “I must tell the Pater.” He left the room with the intention of going to tell his father about the mysterious disappearance of the old volume; perhaps his father had it, or—Hark! what was that! the rustling of stiff paper was audible. He was now quite close to Smith, the butler’s room. The door was open so he looked in. There he saw Smith leaning over the old volume deeply engrossed. Suddenly he got up and walked stealthily to the door. Then he walked off in the direction of the room with the carving. When he got there he pressed the letter “U” and immediately a little trap door opened which was about 17 by 13 inches. Into this crept Smith followed by Tom. The two crept along a passage, and stopped at the sight of a great granite door. “Smith! what does this mean?” cried Tom putting his hand on Smith’s collar. Smith fairly staggered when he saw Tom; in fact he simply lost his head, and flew at Tom’s throat. A tremendous fight ensued in which Tom with his knowledge of boxing gave him, gave Smith an “up shot” blow that fairly staggered him. But in the end weight won and Tom was knocked senseless to the ground: but Smith was not a fellow to leave him there, he carried him up the steps and laying him down at the door of the library, then closing the door of the secret cave, and putting back the old volume in the library as he found it, he went back to bed. Sir Alfred came striding along the passage to the library when he suddenly stopped in utter astonishment. “Tom!” he gasped as he saw the boy’s pale face.
Chapter III When Tom came to consciousness he found himself in a soft feather bed with a nurse at his bedside. “Ah! that’s good,fake uggs, he is conscious now” she whispered. “Why did Smith attack me? asked Tom feebly. “He’s delirious” said the nurse turning to the doctor, “I thought he would be after that fall, poor boy”; for the library being at the foot of a flight of steps, Sir Alfred and the nurse naturally thought he had fallen down them. A long time had past and Tom had not been allowed to see anyone as he had concussion of the brain. At last he was allowed to see someone and nurse asked him who he would choose for his first visitor. “Smith” was the reply. In came Smith very shyly. Why did you fling me down on that stone” demanded Tom.
Mulia Pecunia
Chapter I Sir Alfred James, a great collector of books, one day chanced to look at an old volume which had the curious name of “Multa Pecunia,” which told him that under his house there was a cave in which was untold of wealth. He did not trouble to read any more, for he had heard the yarn before, and did not believe it,fake delaine ugg boots. When Tom came home, being Sir Alfred’s son, he was treated with great respect by the servants and therefore was allowed to go into every nook and corner of the house. He was in a little poky room one day, when he saw this carving “Multa Pecunia.” He stared for some time at the carving,cheap jeremy scott adidas, when suddenly he remembered seeing a book in the library with the same title,http://www.rolexsubmarinerreplica1.com. Immediately he ran to the library and took out the catalogue. There he saw these words, “Multa Pecunia, shelf 7, place 13.” He was immediately at shelf 7, but place 13 was empty!
Chapter II What could it mean? Why had the book gone? He was quite bewildered. “Jumping Golliwogs” cried Tom at last, “I must tell the Pater.” He left the room with the intention of going to tell his father about the mysterious disappearance of the old volume; perhaps his father had it, or—Hark! what was that! the rustling of stiff paper was audible. He was now quite close to Smith, the butler’s room. The door was open so he looked in. There he saw Smith leaning over the old volume deeply engrossed. Suddenly he got up and walked stealthily to the door. Then he walked off in the direction of the room with the carving. When he got there he pressed the letter “U” and immediately a little trap door opened which was about 17 by 13 inches. Into this crept Smith followed by Tom. The two crept along a passage, and stopped at the sight of a great granite door. “Smith! what does this mean?” cried Tom putting his hand on Smith’s collar. Smith fairly staggered when he saw Tom; in fact he simply lost his head, and flew at Tom’s throat. A tremendous fight ensued in which Tom with his knowledge of boxing gave him, gave Smith an “up shot” blow that fairly staggered him. But in the end weight won and Tom was knocked senseless to the ground: but Smith was not a fellow to leave him there, he carried him up the steps and laying him down at the door of the library, then closing the door of the secret cave, and putting back the old volume in the library as he found it, he went back to bed. Sir Alfred came striding along the passage to the library when he suddenly stopped in utter astonishment. “Tom!” he gasped as he saw the boy’s pale face.
Chapter III When Tom came to consciousness he found himself in a soft feather bed with a nurse at his bedside. “Ah! that’s good,fake uggs, he is conscious now” she whispered. “Why did Smith attack me? asked Tom feebly. “He’s delirious” said the nurse turning to the doctor, “I thought he would be after that fall, poor boy”; for the library being at the foot of a flight of steps, Sir Alfred and the nurse naturally thought he had fallen down them. A long time had past and Tom had not been allowed to see anyone as he had concussion of the brain. At last he was allowed to see someone and nurse asked him who he would choose for his first visitor. “Smith” was the reply. In came Smith very shyly. Why did you fling me down on that stone” demanded Tom.
A fingertip grazed a plucked eyebrow
A fingertip grazed a plucked eyebrow,adidas jeremy scott wings. "To be honest, I wanted to be convinced. Being alone's so ... dark. I hadn't . . . And Lo's a wonderful person—and now she's flown off somewhere. Dr. Delaware, do we need to worry? I really don't want to worry, but I must admit, I am bothered."
"Lauren didn't give a clue where she was going?"
"No, and she didn't take her car—it's parked in her space out back. So maybe she did fly off—literally,fake uggs boots. It's not as if she's a Greyhound girl. Nothing slow suits her, she works like a demon—studying, doing research."
"Research at the U?"
"Uh-huh."
"On what?"
"She never told me, just said that between her classes and research job she had a full plate. You think that's what might've taken her somewhere—the job?"
"Maybe," I said. "No idea who she worked for?"
Salander shook his head. "We're chums and all that, but Lo goes her way and I go mine. Different biorhythms. She's a morning lark, I'm a night owl. Perfect arrangement—she's bright and chirpy for classes and I'm coherent when the time rolls around for my work. By the time I wake up, she's usually gone. That's why it took a couple of days to realize her bed hadn't been slept in." He shifted uncomfortably. "Our bedrooms are our private space, but Mrs. A sounded so anxious that I did agree to peek in."
"The right thing to do," I said.
"I hope."
"What kind of work do you do, Mr. Salander?"
"Andrew. Advanced mixology." He smiled. "I tend bar at The Cloisters. It's a saloon in West Hollywood."
Milo and Rick sometimes drank at The Cloisters. "I know the place."
His brows climbed higher. "Do you. So why haven't I seen you before?"
"I've driven by."
"Ah," he said. "Well my Bombay martinis are works of art, so feel free to breeze in,fake uggs boots." His face grew grim. "Listen to me, Lauren's gone and I'm sitting here prattling— No, Doctor, she never gave me a clue as to where she was headed. But till Mrs. A called I can't say I was ready to panic. Lauren did go away from time to time."
"For a week?"
He frowned. "No, one or two nights. Weekends."
"How often?"
"Maybe every two months, every six weeks—I can't really recall."
"Where'dshego?"
"One time she told me she spent some time at the beach. Malibu,fake rolex watches."
"By herself?"
He nodded. "She said she rented a motel room, needed some time to decompress, and the sound of the ocean was peaceful. As for the other times, I don't know."
"Those weekends, did she usually take her car?"
"Yes, always. ... So this is different, isn't it?" He rubbed his armband tattoo, wincing as if the art were new, the pain fresh. "Do you really think something's wrong?"
"I don't know enough to think anything. But Mrs. Abbot seems to be worrying."
"Maybe Mrs. A's getting us all overwrought. The way mothers do."
"Have you met her?"
"Only once, a while back—two, three months ago. She came to take Lo out to lunch and we chatted briefly while Lo got ready. I thought she was nice enough but rather Pasadena, if you know what I mean. Coordinated ensemble, several cracks past brittle. I saw her as a perfect fiftiesperson—someone who'd drive a Chrysler Imperial with all the trimmings and pile the backseat full of Bullocks Wilshire shopping bags."
"Lauren didn't give a clue where she was going?"
"No, and she didn't take her car—it's parked in her space out back. So maybe she did fly off—literally,fake uggs boots. It's not as if she's a Greyhound girl. Nothing slow suits her, she works like a demon—studying, doing research."
"Research at the U?"
"Uh-huh."
"On what?"
"She never told me, just said that between her classes and research job she had a full plate. You think that's what might've taken her somewhere—the job?"
"Maybe," I said. "No idea who she worked for?"
Salander shook his head. "We're chums and all that, but Lo goes her way and I go mine. Different biorhythms. She's a morning lark, I'm a night owl. Perfect arrangement—she's bright and chirpy for classes and I'm coherent when the time rolls around for my work. By the time I wake up, she's usually gone. That's why it took a couple of days to realize her bed hadn't been slept in." He shifted uncomfortably. "Our bedrooms are our private space, but Mrs. A sounded so anxious that I did agree to peek in."
"The right thing to do," I said.
"I hope."
"What kind of work do you do, Mr. Salander?"
"Andrew. Advanced mixology." He smiled. "I tend bar at The Cloisters. It's a saloon in West Hollywood."
Milo and Rick sometimes drank at The Cloisters. "I know the place."
His brows climbed higher. "Do you. So why haven't I seen you before?"
"I've driven by."
"Ah," he said. "Well my Bombay martinis are works of art, so feel free to breeze in,fake uggs boots." His face grew grim. "Listen to me, Lauren's gone and I'm sitting here prattling— No, Doctor, she never gave me a clue as to where she was headed. But till Mrs. A called I can't say I was ready to panic. Lauren did go away from time to time."
"For a week?"
He frowned. "No, one or two nights. Weekends."
"How often?"
"Maybe every two months, every six weeks—I can't really recall."
"Where'dshego?"
"One time she told me she spent some time at the beach. Malibu,fake rolex watches."
"By herself?"
He nodded. "She said she rented a motel room, needed some time to decompress, and the sound of the ocean was peaceful. As for the other times, I don't know."
"Those weekends, did she usually take her car?"
"Yes, always. ... So this is different, isn't it?" He rubbed his armband tattoo, wincing as if the art were new, the pain fresh. "Do you really think something's wrong?"
"I don't know enough to think anything. But Mrs. Abbot seems to be worrying."
"Maybe Mrs. A's getting us all overwrought. The way mothers do."
"Have you met her?"
"Only once, a while back—two, three months ago. She came to take Lo out to lunch and we chatted briefly while Lo got ready. I thought she was nice enough but rather Pasadena, if you know what I mean. Coordinated ensemble, several cracks past brittle. I saw her as a perfect fiftiesperson—someone who'd drive a Chrysler Imperial with all the trimmings and pile the backseat full of Bullocks Wilshire shopping bags."
Faith came to her
Faith came to her, and as her hands became too weak for anything but patient folding, every care slipped so quietly into Faith's, that few perceived how fast she was laying down the things of this world, and making ready to take up those of the world to come. Her father was her faithful shadow; bent and white-haired now, but growing young at heart in spite of sorrow, for his daughter had in truth become the blessing of his life. Mark and Jessie brought their offering of love in little Sylvia's shape, and the innocent consoler did her sweet work by making sunshine in a shady place. But Moor was all in all to Sylvia, and their friendship proved an abiding strength, for sorrow made it very tender, sincerity ennobled it, and the coming change sanctified it to them both.
April came; and on her birthday, with a grateful heart, Moor gathered the first snow-drops of the year. All day they stood beside her couch, as fragile and as pale as she, and many eyes had filled as loving fancies likened her to the slender, transparent vase,http://www.rolexsubmarinerreplica1.com, the very spirit of a shape, and the white flowers that had blossomed beautifully through the snow. When the evening lamp was lighted, she took the little posy in her hand, and lay with her eyes upon it, listening to the book Moor read, for this hour always soothed the unrest of the day. Very quiet was the pleasant room, with no sounds in it but the soft flicker of the fire, the rustle of Faith's needle, and the subdued music of the voice that patiently went reading on, long after Sylvia's eyes had closed, lest she should miss its murmur. For an hour she seemed to sleep, so motionless, so colorless, that her father,jeremy scott adidas wings, always sitting at her side,imitation rolex watches, bent down at last to listen at her lips. The lips smiled, the eyes unclosed, and she looked up at him, with an expression as tender as tranquil.
"A long sleep and pleasant dreams that wake you smiling?" he asked.
"Beautiful and happy thoughts, father; let me tell you some of them. As I lay here, I fell to thinking of my life, and at first it seemed the sorrowfullest failure I had ever known. Whom had I made happy? What had I done worth the doing? Where was the humble satisfaction that should come hand in hand with death? At first I could find no answers to my questions, and though my one and twenty years do not seem long to live, I felt as if it would have been better for us all if I had died, a new-born baby in my mother's arms."
"My child, say anything but that, because it is I who have made your life a failure."
"Wait a little father, and you will see that it is a beautiful success. I _have_ given happiness, _have_ done something worth the doing; now I see a compensation for all seeming loss, and heartily thank God that I did not die till I had learned the true purpose of all lives. He knows that I say these things humbly, that I claim no virtue for myself, and have been a blind instrument in His hand, to illustrate truths that will endure when I am forgotten. I have helped Mark and Jessie, for, remembering me, they will feel how blest they are in truly loving one another. They will keep little Sylvia from making mistakes like mine,SHIPPING INFO., and the household joys and sorrows we have known together, will teach Mark to make his talent a delight to many, by letting art interpret nature."
Uchendu had been told by one of his grandchildren that three strangers had come to Okonkwo's house
Uchendu had been told by one of his grandchildren that three strangers had come to Okonkwo's house. He was therefore waiting to receive them. He held out his hands to them when they came into his obi,jeremy scott wings, and after they had shaken hands he asked Okonkwo who they were.
"This is Obierika, my great friend. I have already spoken to you about him."
"Yes," said the old man, turning to Obierika. "My son has told me about you, and I am happy you have come to see us. I knew your father,SHIPPING INFO., Iweka. He was a great man. He had many friends here and came to see them quite often. Those were good days when a man had friends in distant clans. Your generation does not know that. You stay at home, afraid of your next-door neighbor. Even a man's motherland is strange to him nowadays." He looked at Okonkwo. "I am an old man and I like to talk. That is all I am good for now." He got up painfully, went into an inner room and came back with a kola nut.
"Who are the young men with you?" he asked as he sat down again on his goatskin. Okonkwo told him.
"Ah," he said. "Welcome, my sons." He presented the kola nut to them, and when they had seen it and thanked him, he broke it and they ate.
"Go into that room," he said to Okonkwo, pointing with his finger. "You will find a pot of wine there."
Okonkwo brought the wine and they began to drink. It was a day old, and very strong.
"Yes,Home Page," said Uchendu after a long silence. "People traveled more in those days. There is not a single clan in these parts that I do not know very well. Aninta, Umuazu, Ikeocha, Elumelu, Abame—I know them all."
"Have you heard," asked Obierika, "that Abame is no more?"
"How is that?" asked Uchendu and Okonkwo together.
"Abame has been wiped out," said Obierika. "It is a strange and terrible story. If I had not seen the few survivors with my own eyes and heard their story with my own ears, I would not have believed. Was it not on an Eke day that they fled into Umuofia?" he asked his two companions, and they nodded their heads.
"Three moons ago," said Obierika,cheap jeremy scott adidas, "on an Eke market day a little band of fugitives came into our town. Most of them were sons of our land whose mothers had been buried with us. But there were some too who came because they had friends in our town, and others who could think of nowhere else open to escape. And so they fled into Umuofia with a woeful story." He drank his palm-wine, and Okonkwo filled his horn again. He continued:
"During the last planting season a white man had appeared in their clan."
"An albino," suggested Okonkwo.
"He was not an albino. He was quite different." He sipped his wine. "And he was riding an iron horse. The first people who saw him ran away, but he stood beckoning to them. In the end the fearless ones went near and even touched him. The elders consulted their Oracle and it told them that the strange man would break their clan and spread destruction among them." Obierika again drank a little of his wine. "And so they killed the white man and tied his iron horse to their sacred tree because it looked as if it would run away to call the man's friends. I forgot to tell you another thing which the Oracle said. It said that other white men were on their way. They were locusts, it said, and that first man was their harbinger sent to explore the terrain. And so they killed him."
"This is Obierika, my great friend. I have already spoken to you about him."
"Yes," said the old man, turning to Obierika. "My son has told me about you, and I am happy you have come to see us. I knew your father,SHIPPING INFO., Iweka. He was a great man. He had many friends here and came to see them quite often. Those were good days when a man had friends in distant clans. Your generation does not know that. You stay at home, afraid of your next-door neighbor. Even a man's motherland is strange to him nowadays." He looked at Okonkwo. "I am an old man and I like to talk. That is all I am good for now." He got up painfully, went into an inner room and came back with a kola nut.
"Who are the young men with you?" he asked as he sat down again on his goatskin. Okonkwo told him.
"Ah," he said. "Welcome, my sons." He presented the kola nut to them, and when they had seen it and thanked him, he broke it and they ate.
"Go into that room," he said to Okonkwo, pointing with his finger. "You will find a pot of wine there."
Okonkwo brought the wine and they began to drink. It was a day old, and very strong.
"Yes,Home Page," said Uchendu after a long silence. "People traveled more in those days. There is not a single clan in these parts that I do not know very well. Aninta, Umuazu, Ikeocha, Elumelu, Abame—I know them all."
"Have you heard," asked Obierika, "that Abame is no more?"
"How is that?" asked Uchendu and Okonkwo together.
"Abame has been wiped out," said Obierika. "It is a strange and terrible story. If I had not seen the few survivors with my own eyes and heard their story with my own ears, I would not have believed. Was it not on an Eke day that they fled into Umuofia?" he asked his two companions, and they nodded their heads.
"Three moons ago," said Obierika,cheap jeremy scott adidas, "on an Eke market day a little band of fugitives came into our town. Most of them were sons of our land whose mothers had been buried with us. But there were some too who came because they had friends in our town, and others who could think of nowhere else open to escape. And so they fled into Umuofia with a woeful story." He drank his palm-wine, and Okonkwo filled his horn again. He continued:
"During the last planting season a white man had appeared in their clan."
"An albino," suggested Okonkwo.
"He was not an albino. He was quite different." He sipped his wine. "And he was riding an iron horse. The first people who saw him ran away, but he stood beckoning to them. In the end the fearless ones went near and even touched him. The elders consulted their Oracle and it told them that the strange man would break their clan and spread destruction among them." Obierika again drank a little of his wine. "And so they killed the white man and tied his iron horse to their sacred tree because it looked as if it would run away to call the man's friends. I forgot to tell you another thing which the Oracle said. It said that other white men were on their way. They were locusts, it said, and that first man was their harbinger sent to explore the terrain. And so they killed him."
Monday, November 19, 2012
“Pardon
“Pardon?”
“Clearing it up.”
“You know,” she said. “I need to get rid of…this, this mess.”
I nodded and she cocked her head like a puppy. “Lauritz said you were thebest.”
First-name basis with her lawyer. I wondered if Montez had been motivated bymore than professional responsibility.
Stop, suspicious fellow. Focus on the patient.
This patient was leaning forward and smiling shyly, loose breasts cuppingblack jersey. I said, “What did Mr. Montez tell you about this evaluation?”
“That I should open myself up emotionally.” She poked at a corner of oneeye. Dropped her hand and ran her finger along a black-denim knee.
“Open yourself up how?”
“You know, not hold back from you, just basically be myself. I’m…”
I waited.
She said, “I’m glad it’s you. You seem kind.” She curled one leg under theother.
I said, “Tell me how it happened, Michaela.”
“How what happened?”
“The phony abduction.”
She flinched,Link. “You don’t want to know about my childhood or anything?”
“We may get into that later, but it’s best to start with the hoax itself.I’d like to hear what happened in your words.”
“My words. Boy.” Half smile. “No foreplay, huh?”
I smiled back. She unfolded her legs and a pair of high-heeled blackSkechers alit on the carpet,ladies rolex datejusts. She flexed one foot. Looked around the office. “Iknow I did wrong but I’m a good girl, Doctor. Ideally am.”
She crossed her arms over the Porn Star logo. “Where to start…I have to tellyou, I feel so exposed.”
I pictured her rushing onto the road, naked, nearly causing an old man todrive his truck off a cliff. “I know it’s tough to think about what you did,Michaela, but it could be really helpful to get used to talking about it.”
“So you can understand me?”
“That,” I said, “but also at some point you might be required to allocate.”
“What’s that?”
“To tell the judge what you did.”
“Confession,” she said. “It’s a fancy word for confession?”
“I guess it is.”
“All these words they use.” She laughed softly. “At least I’m learningstuff.”
“Probably not the way you wanted to.”
“That’s for sure…lawyers, cops. I don’t even remember who I told what.”
“It’s pretty confusing,” I said.
“Totally, Doctor. I have a thing for that.”
“For what?”
“Confusion. Back in Phoenix—inhigh school—some people used to think I was an airhead. The brainiacs, youknow? Truth is, I got confused a lot. Still do. Maybe it’s because I fell on myhead when I was a little kid. Fell off a swing and passed out. After that Inever really did too good in school,jeremy scott shop.”
“Sounds like a bad fall.”
“I don’t remember much about it, Doctor,fake uggs, but they told me I was unconsciousfor half a day.”
“How old were you?”
“Maybe three. Four. I was swinging high, used to love to swing. Must’ve letgo or something and went flying. I hit my head other times, too. I was alwaysfalling, tripping over myself. My legs grew so fast, when I was fifteen I wentfrom five feet to five eight in six months.”
“You’re accident-prone.”
“My mom used to say I was an accident waiting to happen. I’d get her to buyme good jeans, and then I’d rip the knees and she’d get upset and promise neverto buy me anything anymore.”
“Clearing it up.”
“You know,” she said. “I need to get rid of…this, this mess.”
I nodded and she cocked her head like a puppy. “Lauritz said you were thebest.”
First-name basis with her lawyer. I wondered if Montez had been motivated bymore than professional responsibility.
Stop, suspicious fellow. Focus on the patient.
This patient was leaning forward and smiling shyly, loose breasts cuppingblack jersey. I said, “What did Mr. Montez tell you about this evaluation?”
“That I should open myself up emotionally.” She poked at a corner of oneeye. Dropped her hand and ran her finger along a black-denim knee.
“Open yourself up how?”
“You know, not hold back from you, just basically be myself. I’m…”
I waited.
She said, “I’m glad it’s you. You seem kind.” She curled one leg under theother.
I said, “Tell me how it happened, Michaela.”
“How what happened?”
“The phony abduction.”
She flinched,Link. “You don’t want to know about my childhood or anything?”
“We may get into that later, but it’s best to start with the hoax itself.I’d like to hear what happened in your words.”
“My words. Boy.” Half smile. “No foreplay, huh?”
I smiled back. She unfolded her legs and a pair of high-heeled blackSkechers alit on the carpet,ladies rolex datejusts. She flexed one foot. Looked around the office. “Iknow I did wrong but I’m a good girl, Doctor. Ideally am.”
She crossed her arms over the Porn Star logo. “Where to start…I have to tellyou, I feel so exposed.”
I pictured her rushing onto the road, naked, nearly causing an old man todrive his truck off a cliff. “I know it’s tough to think about what you did,Michaela, but it could be really helpful to get used to talking about it.”
“So you can understand me?”
“That,” I said, “but also at some point you might be required to allocate.”
“What’s that?”
“To tell the judge what you did.”
“Confession,” she said. “It’s a fancy word for confession?”
“I guess it is.”
“All these words they use.” She laughed softly. “At least I’m learningstuff.”
“Probably not the way you wanted to.”
“That’s for sure…lawyers, cops. I don’t even remember who I told what.”
“It’s pretty confusing,” I said.
“Totally, Doctor. I have a thing for that.”
“For what?”
“Confusion. Back in Phoenix—inhigh school—some people used to think I was an airhead. The brainiacs, youknow? Truth is, I got confused a lot. Still do. Maybe it’s because I fell on myhead when I was a little kid. Fell off a swing and passed out. After that Inever really did too good in school,jeremy scott shop.”
“Sounds like a bad fall.”
“I don’t remember much about it, Doctor,fake uggs, but they told me I was unconsciousfor half a day.”
“How old were you?”
“Maybe three. Four. I was swinging high, used to love to swing. Must’ve letgo or something and went flying. I hit my head other times, too. I was alwaysfalling, tripping over myself. My legs grew so fast, when I was fifteen I wentfrom five feet to five eight in six months.”
“You’re accident-prone.”
“My mom used to say I was an accident waiting to happen. I’d get her to buyme good jeans, and then I’d rip the knees and she’d get upset and promise neverto buy me anything anymore.”
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
What Bertie means
"What Bertie means," he explained, "is that it's no good us waiting forM'Todd to come back. He never could fill a kettle in less than tenminutes, and even then he's certain to spill it coming upstairs andhave to go back again. Let's get on with the sausages."The pan had just been placed on the fire when M'Todd returned with thewater. He tripped over the mat as he entered, and spilt about half apint into one of his football boots, which stood inside the door, butthe accident was comparatively trivial, and excited no remark.
"I wonder where that slacker Shoeblossom has got to," said Barry. "Henever turns up in time to do any work. He seems to regard himself as abeastly guest,adidas jeremy scott. I wish we could finish the sausages before he comes. Itwould be a sell for him.""Not much chance of that,Cheap Adidas Jeremy Scott Big Tongue Shoes," said Drummond, who was kneeling before thefire and keeping an excited eye on the spluttering pan, "_you_see. He'll come just as we've finished cooking them. I believe the manwaits outside with his ear to the keyhole. Hullo! Stand by with theplate. They'll be done in half a jiffy."Just as the last sausage was deposited in safety on the plate, the dooropened, and Shoeblossom, looking as if he had not brushed his hairsince early childhood, sidled in with an attempt at an easy nonchalancewhich was rendered quite impossible by the hopeless state of hisconscience.
"Ah," he said,cheap jeremy scott adidas, "brewing, I see. Can I be of any use?""We've finished years ago," said Barry.
"Ages ago,chanel classic bags," said M'Todd.
A look of intense alarm appeared on Shoeblossom's classical features.
"You've not finished, really?""We've finished cooking everything," said Drummond. "We haven't beguntea yet. Now, are you happy?"Shoeblossom was. So happy that he felt he must do something tocelebrate the occasion. He felt like a successful general. There mustbe _something_ he could do to show that he regarded the situationwith approval. He looked round the study. Ha! Happy thought--thefrying-pan. That useful culinary instrument was lying in the fender,still bearing its cargo of fat, and beside it--a sight to stir theblood and make the heart beat faster--were the sausages, piled up ontheir plate.
Shoeblossom stooped. He seized the frying-pan. He gave it one twirl inthe air. Then, before any one could stop him, he had turned it upsidedown over the fire. As has been already remarked, you could neverpredict exactly what James Rupert Leather-Twigg would be up to next.
When anything goes out of the frying-pan into the fire, it is usuallyproductive of interesting by-products. The maxim applies to fat. Thefat was in the fire with a vengeance. A great sheet of flame rushed outand up. Shoeblossom leaped back with a readiness highly creditable inone who was not a professional acrobat. The covering of the mantelpiececaught fire. The flames went roaring up the chimney.
Drummond, cool while everything else was so hot, without a word movedto the mantelpiece to beat out the fire with a football shirt. Bertiewas talking rapidly to himself in French. Nobody could understand whathe was saying, which was possibly fortunate.
"I wonder where that slacker Shoeblossom has got to," said Barry. "Henever turns up in time to do any work. He seems to regard himself as abeastly guest,adidas jeremy scott. I wish we could finish the sausages before he comes. Itwould be a sell for him.""Not much chance of that,Cheap Adidas Jeremy Scott Big Tongue Shoes," said Drummond, who was kneeling before thefire and keeping an excited eye on the spluttering pan, "_you_see. He'll come just as we've finished cooking them. I believe the manwaits outside with his ear to the keyhole. Hullo! Stand by with theplate. They'll be done in half a jiffy."Just as the last sausage was deposited in safety on the plate, the dooropened, and Shoeblossom, looking as if he had not brushed his hairsince early childhood, sidled in with an attempt at an easy nonchalancewhich was rendered quite impossible by the hopeless state of hisconscience.
"Ah," he said,cheap jeremy scott adidas, "brewing, I see. Can I be of any use?""We've finished years ago," said Barry.
"Ages ago,chanel classic bags," said M'Todd.
A look of intense alarm appeared on Shoeblossom's classical features.
"You've not finished, really?""We've finished cooking everything," said Drummond. "We haven't beguntea yet. Now, are you happy?"Shoeblossom was. So happy that he felt he must do something tocelebrate the occasion. He felt like a successful general. There mustbe _something_ he could do to show that he regarded the situationwith approval. He looked round the study. Ha! Happy thought--thefrying-pan. That useful culinary instrument was lying in the fender,still bearing its cargo of fat, and beside it--a sight to stir theblood and make the heart beat faster--were the sausages, piled up ontheir plate.
Shoeblossom stooped. He seized the frying-pan. He gave it one twirl inthe air. Then, before any one could stop him, he had turned it upsidedown over the fire. As has been already remarked, you could neverpredict exactly what James Rupert Leather-Twigg would be up to next.
When anything goes out of the frying-pan into the fire, it is usuallyproductive of interesting by-products. The maxim applies to fat. Thefat was in the fire with a vengeance. A great sheet of flame rushed outand up. Shoeblossom leaped back with a readiness highly creditable inone who was not a professional acrobat. The covering of the mantelpiececaught fire. The flames went roaring up the chimney.
Drummond, cool while everything else was so hot, without a word movedto the mantelpiece to beat out the fire with a football shirt. Bertiewas talking rapidly to himself in French. Nobody could understand whathe was saying, which was possibly fortunate.
In a trice the wandering couples had gathered jubilantly round the camp-fire
In a trice the wandering couples had gathered jubilantly round the camp-fire, all embracing Bell, who was the heroine of the hour-- entirely by chance, and not though superior vision or courage, as she confessed.
It was hardly fifteen minutes when Geoff strode into the ring with his sorry-looking burden, which he laid immediately in Aunt Truth's lap.
'Oh my darling!' she cried, embracing him fondly. 'To think you are really not dead,fake uggs, after all!'
'No,jeremy scott adidas, he is about as alive as any chap I ever saw.' And while the happy parents caressed their restored darling, Geoff gathered the girls and boys around the dinner-table, and repeated some of Dicky's remarks on the homeward trip.
It seems that he considered himself the injured party, and with great ingenuity laid all the blame of the mishap on his elders.
'Nobuddy takes care of me, anyhow,' he grumbled. 'If my papa wasn't a mean fing I'd orter to have a black nurse with a white cap and apurn,http://www.fakeuggsforsales.com/, like Billy Thomas, 'n' then I couldn't git losted so offul easy. An' you all never cared a cent about it either, or you'd a founded me quicker 'n this--'n' I've been hungry fur nineteen hours, 'n' I guess I've been gone till December, by the feelin', but you was too lazy to found me 'f I freezed to def--'n' there ain't but one singul boy of me round the whole camp, 'n' 't would serveded you right if I had got losted for ever; then I bet you wouldn't had much fun Fourth of July 'thout my two bits 'n' my fire-crackers!'
It was an hour or two before peace and quiet were restored to the camp. The long-delayed dinner had to be eaten; and to Hop Yet's calm delight, it was a very bad one. Dicky's small wounds were dressed with sweet oil, and after being fed and bathed he was tucked lovingly into bed, with a hundred kisses or more from the whole party.
A little rest and attention had entirely restored his good-humour; and when Dr. Paul went into the tent to see that all was safe for the night, he found him sitting up in bed with a gleeful countenance, prattling like a little angel.
'We had an offul funny time 'bout my gittin' losted, didn't we, mamma?' chuckled he,Link, with his gurgling little laugh. 'Next time I'm goin' to get losted in annover bran'-new place where no-bud-dy can find me! I fink it was the nicest time 'cept Fourth of July, don't you, mamma?' And he patted his mother's cheek and imprinted an oily kiss thereon.
'Truth,' said the Doctor, with mild severity, 'I know you don't believe in applying the slipper, but I do think we should arrange some plan for giving that child an idea of the solemnity of life. So far as I can judge, he looks at it as one prolonged picnic.'
'My sentiments exactly!' cried Bell, energetically. 'I can't stand many more of these trying scenes; I am worn to a "shadder."'
Dicky tucked his head under his mother's arm, with a sigh of relief that there was one person, at least, whose sentiments were always favourable and always to be relied upon.
'I love you the best of anybuddy, mamma,' whispered he, and fell asleep.
Chapter 4 Rhyme And Reason
A BUDGET OF LETTERS FROM THE CAMP MAIL-BAG
It was hardly fifteen minutes when Geoff strode into the ring with his sorry-looking burden, which he laid immediately in Aunt Truth's lap.
'Oh my darling!' she cried, embracing him fondly. 'To think you are really not dead,fake uggs, after all!'
'No,jeremy scott adidas, he is about as alive as any chap I ever saw.' And while the happy parents caressed their restored darling, Geoff gathered the girls and boys around the dinner-table, and repeated some of Dicky's remarks on the homeward trip.
It seems that he considered himself the injured party, and with great ingenuity laid all the blame of the mishap on his elders.
'Nobuddy takes care of me, anyhow,' he grumbled. 'If my papa wasn't a mean fing I'd orter to have a black nurse with a white cap and apurn,http://www.fakeuggsforsales.com/, like Billy Thomas, 'n' then I couldn't git losted so offul easy. An' you all never cared a cent about it either, or you'd a founded me quicker 'n this--'n' I've been hungry fur nineteen hours, 'n' I guess I've been gone till December, by the feelin', but you was too lazy to found me 'f I freezed to def--'n' there ain't but one singul boy of me round the whole camp, 'n' 't would serveded you right if I had got losted for ever; then I bet you wouldn't had much fun Fourth of July 'thout my two bits 'n' my fire-crackers!'
It was an hour or two before peace and quiet were restored to the camp. The long-delayed dinner had to be eaten; and to Hop Yet's calm delight, it was a very bad one. Dicky's small wounds were dressed with sweet oil, and after being fed and bathed he was tucked lovingly into bed, with a hundred kisses or more from the whole party.
A little rest and attention had entirely restored his good-humour; and when Dr. Paul went into the tent to see that all was safe for the night, he found him sitting up in bed with a gleeful countenance, prattling like a little angel.
'We had an offul funny time 'bout my gittin' losted, didn't we, mamma?' chuckled he,Link, with his gurgling little laugh. 'Next time I'm goin' to get losted in annover bran'-new place where no-bud-dy can find me! I fink it was the nicest time 'cept Fourth of July, don't you, mamma?' And he patted his mother's cheek and imprinted an oily kiss thereon.
'Truth,' said the Doctor, with mild severity, 'I know you don't believe in applying the slipper, but I do think we should arrange some plan for giving that child an idea of the solemnity of life. So far as I can judge, he looks at it as one prolonged picnic.'
'My sentiments exactly!' cried Bell, energetically. 'I can't stand many more of these trying scenes; I am worn to a "shadder."'
Dicky tucked his head under his mother's arm, with a sigh of relief that there was one person, at least, whose sentiments were always favourable and always to be relied upon.
'I love you the best of anybuddy, mamma,' whispered he, and fell asleep.
Chapter 4 Rhyme And Reason
A BUDGET OF LETTERS FROM THE CAMP MAIL-BAG
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
It may be thought curious that he should make Jimmy his heir after what had happened
It may be thought curious that he should make Jimmy his heir after what had happened; but it is possible that time had softened his resentment. Or he may have had a dislike for public charities, the only other claimant for his wealth. At any rate, it came about that Jimmy, reading in a Chicago paper that if Sir James Willoughby Pitt, baronet, would call upon Messrs. Snell, Hazlewood, and Delane, solicitors, of Lincoln's Inn Fields, London, he would hear of something to his advantage, had called and heard something very much to his advantage.
Wherefore we find him, on this night of July, supping in lonely magnificence at the Savoy, and feeling at the moment far less conscious of the magnificence than of the loneliness.
Watching the crowd with a jaundiced eye, Jimmy had found his attention attracted chiefly by a party of three a few tables away. The party consisted of a pretty girl, a lady of middle age and stately demeanor, plainly her mother, and a light-haired, weedy young man of about twenty. It had been the almost incessant prattle of this youth and the peculiarly high-pitched,fake uggs boots, gurgling laugh which shot from him at short intervals which had drawn Jimmy's notice upon them. And it was the curious cessation of both prattle and laugh which now made him look again in their direction.
The young man faced Jimmy; and Jimmy, looking at him, could see that all was not well with him. He was pale. He talked at random. A slight perspiration was noticeable on his forehead.
Jimmy caught his eye. There was a hunted look in it.
Given the time and the place, there were only two things which could have caused that look. Either the light-haired young man had seen a ghost, or he had suddenly realized that he had not enough money to pay the check.
Jimmy's heart went out to the sufferer. He took a card from his case, scribbled the words, "Can I help?" on it, and gave it to a waiter to take to the young man, who was now in a state bordering on collapse.
The next moment the light-haired one was at his table, talking in a feverish whisper.
"I say," he said, "it's frightfully good of you, old chap. It's frightfully awkward. I've come out with too little money. I hardly like to--What I mean to say is, you've never seen me before, and----"
"That's all right," said Jimmy. "Only too glad to help. It might have happened to any one. Will this be enough?"
He placed a five-pound note on the table. The young man grabbed at it with a rush of thanks.
"I say, thanks fearfully," he said. "I don't know what I'd have done. I'll let you have it back to-morrow. Here's my card. Blunt's my name. Spennie Blunt. Is your address on your card? I can't remember,adidas jeremy scott wings. Oh, by Jove, I've got it in my hand all the time,jeremy scott adidas wings." The gurgling laugh came into action again, freshened and strengthened by its rest. "Savoy Mansions, eh? I'll come round to-morrow. Thanks, frightfully,jeremy scott adidas, again old chap. I don't know what I should have done."
He flitted back to his table, bearing the spoil, and Jimmy, having finished his cigarette, paid his check, and got up to go.
It was a perfect summer night. He looked at his watch. There was time for a stroll on the Embankment before bed.
Wherefore we find him, on this night of July, supping in lonely magnificence at the Savoy, and feeling at the moment far less conscious of the magnificence than of the loneliness.
Watching the crowd with a jaundiced eye, Jimmy had found his attention attracted chiefly by a party of three a few tables away. The party consisted of a pretty girl, a lady of middle age and stately demeanor, plainly her mother, and a light-haired, weedy young man of about twenty. It had been the almost incessant prattle of this youth and the peculiarly high-pitched,fake uggs boots, gurgling laugh which shot from him at short intervals which had drawn Jimmy's notice upon them. And it was the curious cessation of both prattle and laugh which now made him look again in their direction.
The young man faced Jimmy; and Jimmy, looking at him, could see that all was not well with him. He was pale. He talked at random. A slight perspiration was noticeable on his forehead.
Jimmy caught his eye. There was a hunted look in it.
Given the time and the place, there were only two things which could have caused that look. Either the light-haired young man had seen a ghost, or he had suddenly realized that he had not enough money to pay the check.
Jimmy's heart went out to the sufferer. He took a card from his case, scribbled the words, "Can I help?" on it, and gave it to a waiter to take to the young man, who was now in a state bordering on collapse.
The next moment the light-haired one was at his table, talking in a feverish whisper.
"I say," he said, "it's frightfully good of you, old chap. It's frightfully awkward. I've come out with too little money. I hardly like to--What I mean to say is, you've never seen me before, and----"
"That's all right," said Jimmy. "Only too glad to help. It might have happened to any one. Will this be enough?"
He placed a five-pound note on the table. The young man grabbed at it with a rush of thanks.
"I say, thanks fearfully," he said. "I don't know what I'd have done. I'll let you have it back to-morrow. Here's my card. Blunt's my name. Spennie Blunt. Is your address on your card? I can't remember,adidas jeremy scott wings. Oh, by Jove, I've got it in my hand all the time,jeremy scott adidas wings." The gurgling laugh came into action again, freshened and strengthened by its rest. "Savoy Mansions, eh? I'll come round to-morrow. Thanks, frightfully,jeremy scott adidas, again old chap. I don't know what I should have done."
He flitted back to his table, bearing the spoil, and Jimmy, having finished his cigarette, paid his check, and got up to go.
It was a perfect summer night. He looked at his watch. There was time for a stroll on the Embankment before bed.
It was not only the servants' hall which supplied Montague Fallock with all the material for his das
It was not only the servants' hall which supplied Montague Fallock with all the material for his dastardly work. There were men scarcely deserving the name, and women lost to all sense of honour, who found in this little journal means by which they could "come back" at those favoured people who had offered them directly or indirectly some slight offence. Sometimes the communication would reach the _Gossip_ anonymously, but if the facts retailed were sufficiently promising, one of Fallock's investigators would be told off to discover how much truth there was in it. A bland letter would follow, and the wretched victim would emerge from the transaction the poorer in pocket and often in health.
For this remorseless and ruthless man destroyed more than fortunes; he trafficked in human lives. There had been half a dozen mysterious suicides which had been investigated by Scotland Yard,cheap chanel bags, and found directly traceable to letters received in the morning, and burnt by the despairing victim before his untimely and violent departure from life.
The office of the paper was situated at the top of a building in Fleet Street; one back room comprised the whole of its editorial space, and one dour man its entire staff. It was his duty to receive the correspondence as it came and to convey it to the cloakroom of a London station. An hour later it would be called for by a messenger and transferred to another cloakroom,chanel bags cheap. Eventually it would arrive in the possession of the man who was responsible for the contents of the paper. Many of these letters contained contributions in the ordinary way of business, a story or two contributed by a more or less well-known writer. Fallock, or Farrington, needed these outside contributions, not only to give the newspaper a verisimilitude of genuineness, but also to fill the columns of the journal.
He himself devoted his energies to two pages of shrewdly edited tit-bits of information about the great. They were carefully written, often devoid of any reference to the person whom they affected, and were more or less innocuous. But in every batch of letters there were always one or two which gave the master blackmailer an opportunity for extracting money from people, who had been betrayed by servants or friends. There was a standing offer in the _Gossip_ of five guineas for any paragraph which might be useful to the editor, and it is a commentary upon the morality of human nature that there were times when Farrington paid out nearly a thousand pounds a week for the information which his unscrupulous contributors gave him.
There was work here for Poltavo; he was an accomplished scholar, and a shrewd man of affairs. If Farrington had been forced to accept his service, having accepted them, he could do no less than admit the wisdom of his choice. In his big study, with the door locked, Poltavo carefully sorted the correspondence, thinking the while.
If he played his cards well he knew his future was assured. The consequence of his present employment, the misery it might bring to the innocent and to the foolishly guilty alike, did not greatly trouble him; he was perfectly satisfied with his own position in the matter,replica chanel handbags. He had found a means of livelihood,Cheap Adidas Jeremy Scott Big Tongue Shoes, which offered enormous rewards and the minimum of risk. In his brief stay at the Secret House, Farrington had impressed upon him the necessity for respecting trifles.
For this remorseless and ruthless man destroyed more than fortunes; he trafficked in human lives. There had been half a dozen mysterious suicides which had been investigated by Scotland Yard,cheap chanel bags, and found directly traceable to letters received in the morning, and burnt by the despairing victim before his untimely and violent departure from life.
The office of the paper was situated at the top of a building in Fleet Street; one back room comprised the whole of its editorial space, and one dour man its entire staff. It was his duty to receive the correspondence as it came and to convey it to the cloakroom of a London station. An hour later it would be called for by a messenger and transferred to another cloakroom,chanel bags cheap. Eventually it would arrive in the possession of the man who was responsible for the contents of the paper. Many of these letters contained contributions in the ordinary way of business, a story or two contributed by a more or less well-known writer. Fallock, or Farrington, needed these outside contributions, not only to give the newspaper a verisimilitude of genuineness, but also to fill the columns of the journal.
He himself devoted his energies to two pages of shrewdly edited tit-bits of information about the great. They were carefully written, often devoid of any reference to the person whom they affected, and were more or less innocuous. But in every batch of letters there were always one or two which gave the master blackmailer an opportunity for extracting money from people, who had been betrayed by servants or friends. There was a standing offer in the _Gossip_ of five guineas for any paragraph which might be useful to the editor, and it is a commentary upon the morality of human nature that there were times when Farrington paid out nearly a thousand pounds a week for the information which his unscrupulous contributors gave him.
There was work here for Poltavo; he was an accomplished scholar, and a shrewd man of affairs. If Farrington had been forced to accept his service, having accepted them, he could do no less than admit the wisdom of his choice. In his big study, with the door locked, Poltavo carefully sorted the correspondence, thinking the while.
If he played his cards well he knew his future was assured. The consequence of his present employment, the misery it might bring to the innocent and to the foolishly guilty alike, did not greatly trouble him; he was perfectly satisfied with his own position in the matter,replica chanel handbags. He had found a means of livelihood,Cheap Adidas Jeremy Scott Big Tongue Shoes, which offered enormous rewards and the minimum of risk. In his brief stay at the Secret House, Farrington had impressed upon him the necessity for respecting trifles.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
He expectorated--scornfully this time
He expectorated--scornfully this time. He was a man slow by natureto receive ideas, but slower to rid himself of one that hadcontrived to force its way into what he probably called his brain,fake uggs usa.
He had decided on the evidence that I was Smooth Sam Fisher, andno denials on my part were going to shake his belief. He looked onthem merely as so many unsportsmanlike quibbles prompted by greed.
'Tell it to Sweeney!' was the form in which he crystallized hisscepticism.
'May be you'll say youse ain't trailin' de Nugget, huh?'
It was a home-thrust. If truth-telling has become a habit, onegets slowly off the mark when the moment arrives for the prudentlie. Quite against my will, I hesitated. Observant Mr MacGinnisperceived my hesitation and expectorated triumphantly.
'Ah ghee!' he remarked. And then with a sudden return to ferocity,'All right, you Sam, you wait! We'll fix you, and fix you good!
See,cheap jordans? Dat goes. You t'ink youse kin put it across us, huh? Allright, you'll get yours. You wait!'
And with these words he slid off into the night. From somewhere inthe murky middle distance came a scornful 'Hawg!' and he was gone,leaving me with a settled conviction that, while I had frequentlyhad occasion, since my expedition to Sanstead began, to describeaffairs as complex, their complexity had now reached its height.
With a watchful Pinkerton's man within, and a vengeful gang ofrivals without, Sanstead House seemed likely to become anunrestful place for a young kidnapper with no previous experience.
The need for swift action had become imperative.
II
White, the butler, looking singularly unlike a detective--which, Isuppose, is how a detective wants to look--was taking the air onthe football field when I left the house next morning for abefore-breakfast stroll. The sight of him filled me with a desirefor first-hand information on the subject of the man Mr MacGinnissupposed me to be and also of Mr MacGinnis himself. I wanted to beassured that my friend Buck, despite appearances, was a placidperson whose bark was worse than his bite.
White's manner, at our first conversational exchanges, wasentirely that of the butler. From what I came to know of himlater, I think he took an artistic pride in throwing himself intowhatever role he had to assume.
At the mention of Smooth Sam Fisher, however, his manner peeledoff him like a skin, and he began to talk as himself, a racy andvigorous self vastly different from the episcopal person hethought it necessary to be when on duty.
'White,' I said, 'do you know anything of Smooth Sam Fisher?'
He stared at me. I suppose the question, led up to by no previousremark, was unusual,fake uggs for sale.
'I met a gentleman of the name of Buck MacGinnis--he was ourvisitor that night,moncler womens jackets, by the way--and he was full of Sam. Do youknow him?'
'Buck?'
'Either of them.'
'Well, I've never seen Buck, but I know all about him. There'spepper to Buck.'
'So I should imagine. And Sam?'
'You may take it from me that there's more pepper to Sam's littlefinger than there is to Buck's whole body. Sam could make Bucklook like the last run of shad, if it came to a showdown. Buck'sjust a common roughneck. Sam's an educated man. He's got brains.'
He had decided on the evidence that I was Smooth Sam Fisher, andno denials on my part were going to shake his belief. He looked onthem merely as so many unsportsmanlike quibbles prompted by greed.
'Tell it to Sweeney!' was the form in which he crystallized hisscepticism.
'May be you'll say youse ain't trailin' de Nugget, huh?'
It was a home-thrust. If truth-telling has become a habit, onegets slowly off the mark when the moment arrives for the prudentlie. Quite against my will, I hesitated. Observant Mr MacGinnisperceived my hesitation and expectorated triumphantly.
'Ah ghee!' he remarked. And then with a sudden return to ferocity,'All right, you Sam, you wait! We'll fix you, and fix you good!
See,cheap jordans? Dat goes. You t'ink youse kin put it across us, huh? Allright, you'll get yours. You wait!'
And with these words he slid off into the night. From somewhere inthe murky middle distance came a scornful 'Hawg!' and he was gone,leaving me with a settled conviction that, while I had frequentlyhad occasion, since my expedition to Sanstead began, to describeaffairs as complex, their complexity had now reached its height.
With a watchful Pinkerton's man within, and a vengeful gang ofrivals without, Sanstead House seemed likely to become anunrestful place for a young kidnapper with no previous experience.
The need for swift action had become imperative.
II
White, the butler, looking singularly unlike a detective--which, Isuppose, is how a detective wants to look--was taking the air onthe football field when I left the house next morning for abefore-breakfast stroll. The sight of him filled me with a desirefor first-hand information on the subject of the man Mr MacGinnissupposed me to be and also of Mr MacGinnis himself. I wanted to beassured that my friend Buck, despite appearances, was a placidperson whose bark was worse than his bite.
White's manner, at our first conversational exchanges, wasentirely that of the butler. From what I came to know of himlater, I think he took an artistic pride in throwing himself intowhatever role he had to assume.
At the mention of Smooth Sam Fisher, however, his manner peeledoff him like a skin, and he began to talk as himself, a racy andvigorous self vastly different from the episcopal person hethought it necessary to be when on duty.
'White,' I said, 'do you know anything of Smooth Sam Fisher?'
He stared at me. I suppose the question, led up to by no previousremark, was unusual,fake uggs for sale.
'I met a gentleman of the name of Buck MacGinnis--he was ourvisitor that night,moncler womens jackets, by the way--and he was full of Sam. Do youknow him?'
'Buck?'
'Either of them.'
'Well, I've never seen Buck, but I know all about him. There'spepper to Buck.'
'So I should imagine. And Sam?'
'You may take it from me that there's more pepper to Sam's littlefinger than there is to Buck's whole body. Sam could make Bucklook like the last run of shad, if it came to a showdown. Buck'sjust a common roughneck. Sam's an educated man. He's got brains.'
Chapter 32 A Hard Day For The Twins Roy and Rex slept far into the morning
Chapter 32 A Hard Day For The Twins
Roy and Rex slept far into the morning, which was Saturday. They were awakened finally by a persistent knocking on the door and Jess's voice:
"Are you boys going to sleep all day? Have you forgotten we were all going to Marley at eleven o'clock? And here's a note Syd left for you, Rex. He's much better and gone to the office. Get up now or we shan't save breakfast"
"All right," responded Roy, and he shook his brother and told him about Syd's note.
"I wonder what it's about," murmured Rex.
Then he saw it on the carpet, where Jess had poked it under the door. He snatched it up eagerly and read:
"I am going to telegraph for Miles to come in and stay over Sunday. He must be told while he is here. He will get to the house in time for dinner."
"I wonder if he expects me to tell him?" muttered Rex. "Great Scott, it'll be mighty queer to entertain a fellow in a house that really belongs to him!"
"And I wonder when mother and the girls are to be told," added Roy. "Do you suppose Syd could have told mother already?"
But there was no sign that Mrs. Pell knew from her demeanor when she poured the coffee for them.
"I must go down and see Syd about it," said Roy as they went out into the hall together. "You'll have to go to Marley without me."
"And I'm sure I don't want to go," added Rex.
Their decision carried dismay to the hearts of the girls.
"You must go, boys," said Eva. "The Minturns have invited us to lunch, we have accepted, and it would be very impolite for you not to go now. Besides, Jess and I can't come home after dark alone."
"If you knew what I do you wouldn't feel like going either," returned Rex, not heeding the warning glance cast at him by his brother.
"What do you know, Rex?" asked Jess, looking from one twin to the other with a keen gaze. "There is something between those two," she added, turning to her sister. "You take Roy, Eva, and I'll take Rex, and we'll make them up and confess."
The method of "making" employed was to tickle the boys, who were each very susceptible to this form of torture. This was terrible. To have the thing turned into a joke when it was so fearfully serious. Roy spoke up quickly:
"We'll tell you in a little while now, girls," he said. "But seriously, I think you had better give up this trip to Marley."
"But what excuse will we send the Minturns?"
Roy hesitated. This was a poser.
"Can't you put it off?" he said finally, as a makeshift.
"Of course we can't, without giving a reason for it," returned Jess. "I think you boys are just as mean as you can be. Because you've got up some scheme between you that you'd rather do than go with us, you just won't go."
"Ah, Jess, it isn't that,air jordans for sale. It's-- but I can't tell you now. Come, Rex, we'd better go after all. One day won't make any difference,fake chanel bags."
Rex objected a little longer, but was at last won over,replica chanel handbags.
"I don't suppose we could tell them without Syd's consent," he said when he and Roy had gone up stairs to get their coats. "But it'll seem exactly like dancing on our own graves."
"Oh, not so bad as that,moncler womens jackets, Reggie," returned Roy.
Roy and Rex slept far into the morning, which was Saturday. They were awakened finally by a persistent knocking on the door and Jess's voice:
"Are you boys going to sleep all day? Have you forgotten we were all going to Marley at eleven o'clock? And here's a note Syd left for you, Rex. He's much better and gone to the office. Get up now or we shan't save breakfast"
"All right," responded Roy, and he shook his brother and told him about Syd's note.
"I wonder what it's about," murmured Rex.
Then he saw it on the carpet, where Jess had poked it under the door. He snatched it up eagerly and read:
"I am going to telegraph for Miles to come in and stay over Sunday. He must be told while he is here. He will get to the house in time for dinner."
"I wonder if he expects me to tell him?" muttered Rex. "Great Scott, it'll be mighty queer to entertain a fellow in a house that really belongs to him!"
"And I wonder when mother and the girls are to be told," added Roy. "Do you suppose Syd could have told mother already?"
But there was no sign that Mrs. Pell knew from her demeanor when she poured the coffee for them.
"I must go down and see Syd about it," said Roy as they went out into the hall together. "You'll have to go to Marley without me."
"And I'm sure I don't want to go," added Rex.
Their decision carried dismay to the hearts of the girls.
"You must go, boys," said Eva. "The Minturns have invited us to lunch, we have accepted, and it would be very impolite for you not to go now. Besides, Jess and I can't come home after dark alone."
"If you knew what I do you wouldn't feel like going either," returned Rex, not heeding the warning glance cast at him by his brother.
"What do you know, Rex?" asked Jess, looking from one twin to the other with a keen gaze. "There is something between those two," she added, turning to her sister. "You take Roy, Eva, and I'll take Rex, and we'll make them up and confess."
The method of "making" employed was to tickle the boys, who were each very susceptible to this form of torture. This was terrible. To have the thing turned into a joke when it was so fearfully serious. Roy spoke up quickly:
"We'll tell you in a little while now, girls," he said. "But seriously, I think you had better give up this trip to Marley."
"But what excuse will we send the Minturns?"
Roy hesitated. This was a poser.
"Can't you put it off?" he said finally, as a makeshift.
"Of course we can't, without giving a reason for it," returned Jess. "I think you boys are just as mean as you can be. Because you've got up some scheme between you that you'd rather do than go with us, you just won't go."
"Ah, Jess, it isn't that,air jordans for sale. It's-- but I can't tell you now. Come, Rex, we'd better go after all. One day won't make any difference,fake chanel bags."
Rex objected a little longer, but was at last won over,replica chanel handbags.
"I don't suppose we could tell them without Syd's consent," he said when he and Roy had gone up stairs to get their coats. "But it'll seem exactly like dancing on our own graves."
"Oh, not so bad as that,moncler womens jackets, Reggie," returned Roy.
Far away
Far away, spiked, jagged and indented by the wind vanes, the Surrey Hills rose blue and faint; to the north and nearer, the sharp contours of Highgate and Muswell Hill were similarly jagged. And all over the countryside, he knew, on every crest and hill, where once the hedges had interlaced, and cottages, churches, inns, and farmhouses had nestled among their trees, wind wheels similar to those he saw and bearing like vast advertisements, gaunt and distinctive symbols of the new age, cast their whirling shadows and stored incessantly the energy that flowed away incessantly through all the arteries of the city. And underneath these wandered the countless flocks and herds of the British Food Trust with their lonely guards and keepers.
Not a familiar outline anywhere broke the cluster of gigantic shapes below. St. Paul's he knew survived, and many of the old buildings in Westminster,cheap moncler clerance, embedded out of sight,fake uggs boots, arched over and covered in among the giant growths of this great age. The Themes, too, made no fall and gleam of silver to break the wilderness of the city,fake uggs for sale; the thirsty water mains drank up every drop of its waters before they reached the walls. Its bed and estuary scoured and sunken, was now a canal of sea water and a race of grimy bargemen brought the heavy materials of trade from the Pool thereby beneath the very feet of the workers. Faint and dim in the eastward between earth and sky hung the clustering masts of the colossal shipping in the Pool. For all the heavy traffic, for which there was no need of haste, came in gigantic sailing ships from the ends of the earth, and the heavy goods for which there was urgency in mechanical ships of a smaller swifter sort.
And to the south over the hills, came vast aqueducts with sea water for the sewers and in three separate directions, ran pallid lines--the roads, stippled with moving grey specks. On the first occasion that offered he was determined to go out and see these roads. That would come after the flying ship he was presently to try. His attendant officer described them as a pair of gently curving surfaces a hundred yards wide, each one for the traffic going in one direction, and made of a substance called Eadhamite--an artificial substance, so far as he could gather, resembling toughened glass. Along this shot a strange traffic of narrow rubber-shod vehicles, great single wheels, two and four wheeled vehicles, sweeping along at velocities of from one to six miles a minute. Railroads had vanished; a few embankments remained as rust-crowned trenches here and there. Some few formed the cores of Eadhamite ways.
Among the first things to strike his attention had been the great fleets of advertisement balloons and kites that receded in irregular vistas northward and southward along the lines of the aeroplane journeys. No aeroplanes were to be seen. Their passages had ceased, and only one little-seeming aeropile circled high in the blue distance above the Surrey Hills, an unimpressive soaring speck.
A thing Graham had already learnt, and which he found very hard to imagine, was that nearly all the towns in the country, and almost all the villages, had disappeared. Here and there only, he understood, some gigantic hotel-like edifice stood amid square miles of some single cultivation and preserved the name of a town--as Bournemouth, Wareham, or Swanage. Yet the officer had speedily convinced him how inevitable such a change had been. The old order had dotted the country with farmhouses, and every two or three miles was the ruling landlord's estate, and the place of the inn and cobbler, the grocer's shop and church--the village. Every eight miles or so was the country town, where lawyer, corn merchant, wool-stapler, saddler, veterinary surgeon, doctor, draper, milliner and so forth lived. Every eight miles--simply because that eight mile marketing journey, four there and back, was as much as was comfortable for the farmer. But directly the railways came into play, and after them the light railways, and all the swift new motor cars that had replaced waggons and horses, and so soon as the high roads began to be made of wood, and rubber, and Eadhamite, and all sorts of elastic durable substances--the necessity of having such frequent market towns disappeared. And the big towns grew. They drew the worker with the gravitational force of seemingly endless work, the employer with their suggestions of an infinite ocean of labour,Link.
Not a familiar outline anywhere broke the cluster of gigantic shapes below. St. Paul's he knew survived, and many of the old buildings in Westminster,cheap moncler clerance, embedded out of sight,fake uggs boots, arched over and covered in among the giant growths of this great age. The Themes, too, made no fall and gleam of silver to break the wilderness of the city,fake uggs for sale; the thirsty water mains drank up every drop of its waters before they reached the walls. Its bed and estuary scoured and sunken, was now a canal of sea water and a race of grimy bargemen brought the heavy materials of trade from the Pool thereby beneath the very feet of the workers. Faint and dim in the eastward between earth and sky hung the clustering masts of the colossal shipping in the Pool. For all the heavy traffic, for which there was no need of haste, came in gigantic sailing ships from the ends of the earth, and the heavy goods for which there was urgency in mechanical ships of a smaller swifter sort.
And to the south over the hills, came vast aqueducts with sea water for the sewers and in three separate directions, ran pallid lines--the roads, stippled with moving grey specks. On the first occasion that offered he was determined to go out and see these roads. That would come after the flying ship he was presently to try. His attendant officer described them as a pair of gently curving surfaces a hundred yards wide, each one for the traffic going in one direction, and made of a substance called Eadhamite--an artificial substance, so far as he could gather, resembling toughened glass. Along this shot a strange traffic of narrow rubber-shod vehicles, great single wheels, two and four wheeled vehicles, sweeping along at velocities of from one to six miles a minute. Railroads had vanished; a few embankments remained as rust-crowned trenches here and there. Some few formed the cores of Eadhamite ways.
Among the first things to strike his attention had been the great fleets of advertisement balloons and kites that receded in irregular vistas northward and southward along the lines of the aeroplane journeys. No aeroplanes were to be seen. Their passages had ceased, and only one little-seeming aeropile circled high in the blue distance above the Surrey Hills, an unimpressive soaring speck.
A thing Graham had already learnt, and which he found very hard to imagine, was that nearly all the towns in the country, and almost all the villages, had disappeared. Here and there only, he understood, some gigantic hotel-like edifice stood amid square miles of some single cultivation and preserved the name of a town--as Bournemouth, Wareham, or Swanage. Yet the officer had speedily convinced him how inevitable such a change had been. The old order had dotted the country with farmhouses, and every two or three miles was the ruling landlord's estate, and the place of the inn and cobbler, the grocer's shop and church--the village. Every eight miles or so was the country town, where lawyer, corn merchant, wool-stapler, saddler, veterinary surgeon, doctor, draper, milliner and so forth lived. Every eight miles--simply because that eight mile marketing journey, four there and back, was as much as was comfortable for the farmer. But directly the railways came into play, and after them the light railways, and all the swift new motor cars that had replaced waggons and horses, and so soon as the high roads began to be made of wood, and rubber, and Eadhamite, and all sorts of elastic durable substances--the necessity of having such frequent market towns disappeared. And the big towns grew. They drew the worker with the gravitational force of seemingly endless work, the employer with their suggestions of an infinite ocean of labour,Link.
For a while the next morning the work of loading the West King with flour lagged a little under the
For a while the next morning the work of loading the West King with flour lagged a little under the direction of the new foreman. At eleven o'clock, noting the epidemic of reluctance to move out of a slow drag which had afflicted his gang, the Wildcat climbed to the top of a tier of flour barrels. He took out his knife and whittled through the hoops of a barrel. He resumed his place on the pier. "Break down dat top line. Git movin'! Haul out 'at bottom bar'l! Stan' back when dey comes!"
They came. An avalanche of rolling barrels rolled wildly across the deck of the pier. The top one on which the hoops were cut landed with a smash in the centre of an explosive spray of flour. The atmosphere was suddenly white dust.... Black complexions presently became grey.
Perspiring freight jugglers began to laugh at their fellows. In three minutes the roof of the pier was echoing back the volleys of high-pitched laughter which lifted from below. Until noon, and then through the long afternoon, all that the Wildcat's men did was to laugh their heads off at the slightest provocation and move more freight than the ship's cargo booms could handle.
"Ah likes biscuits an' Ah likes bread,
Doan' like 'em plastered on mah head,
Craves to have 'em spread around on mah inside,
'Sted of havin' dough a-drippin' off mah hide."
The pier foreman, passing the Wildcat's crew late in the afternoon, paused to look the deal over. "Everything all right?"
"Cap'n, yessuh. Dey's good boys. 'Clined to mope some at fust, but dey got laughin' some way. Since den dey's been movin' 'long."
Without knowing it, the Wildcat had mixed the essence of all the theories of efficiency into one barrel of flour. The results of the administered dose were showing on the tally boards in the freight office at the end of the long pier. The transportation superintendent sent for the pier foreman. "Jim, who is handling the flour into the West King?"
"Young nigger called Wildcat--right name is Marsden. Got him yesterday."
"Keep him forever. The Empire docks tomorrow for a mixed cargo for New Orleans. Sixteen thousand tons. Let this Wildcat boy handle all of it--as long as he lasts."
2.
On Friday morning Honey Tone groaned himself awake, realizing when his eyes were open that less than thirty-six hours lay between his fragile form and blood-tinted trouble. It seemed to him that his self-appointed guardians clung closer with the passage of the hours, as if they suspected their soopreem treasury of perfecting a plot which might include his exit. The obligations of the moment were four thousand dollars, and in Honey Tone's bulging pocket but three-fourths of that amount awaited the pay hour which would come with Saturday night.
Saturday dawned, and with it the sprout of an idea had shoved through the graveyard ground of Honey Tone's dejection. In mournful tones, hardly hoping that success would attend his latest scheme, he announced it to his guardian deppities. "Brethren, yo' leadeh's efforts has been rewarded like de oil in de widow's croose. F'm now on us pays back de original 'scription wid a hund'ed per cent intres', an'--hearkin' unto dese words--oveh an' above de 'riginal an' de intres', a bonus equal to de 'vestment! Doan ask what de Lawd means when de blessin' showers down. Git in de rain an' git wet wid cash. Th'ee fo' one--dat's whut pays!"
They came. An avalanche of rolling barrels rolled wildly across the deck of the pier. The top one on which the hoops were cut landed with a smash in the centre of an explosive spray of flour. The atmosphere was suddenly white dust.... Black complexions presently became grey.
Perspiring freight jugglers began to laugh at their fellows. In three minutes the roof of the pier was echoing back the volleys of high-pitched laughter which lifted from below. Until noon, and then through the long afternoon, all that the Wildcat's men did was to laugh their heads off at the slightest provocation and move more freight than the ship's cargo booms could handle.
"Ah likes biscuits an' Ah likes bread,
Doan' like 'em plastered on mah head,
Craves to have 'em spread around on mah inside,
'Sted of havin' dough a-drippin' off mah hide."
The pier foreman, passing the Wildcat's crew late in the afternoon, paused to look the deal over. "Everything all right?"
"Cap'n, yessuh. Dey's good boys. 'Clined to mope some at fust, but dey got laughin' some way. Since den dey's been movin' 'long."
Without knowing it, the Wildcat had mixed the essence of all the theories of efficiency into one barrel of flour. The results of the administered dose were showing on the tally boards in the freight office at the end of the long pier. The transportation superintendent sent for the pier foreman. "Jim, who is handling the flour into the West King?"
"Young nigger called Wildcat--right name is Marsden. Got him yesterday."
"Keep him forever. The Empire docks tomorrow for a mixed cargo for New Orleans. Sixteen thousand tons. Let this Wildcat boy handle all of it--as long as he lasts."
2.
On Friday morning Honey Tone groaned himself awake, realizing when his eyes were open that less than thirty-six hours lay between his fragile form and blood-tinted trouble. It seemed to him that his self-appointed guardians clung closer with the passage of the hours, as if they suspected their soopreem treasury of perfecting a plot which might include his exit. The obligations of the moment were four thousand dollars, and in Honey Tone's bulging pocket but three-fourths of that amount awaited the pay hour which would come with Saturday night.
Saturday dawned, and with it the sprout of an idea had shoved through the graveyard ground of Honey Tone's dejection. In mournful tones, hardly hoping that success would attend his latest scheme, he announced it to his guardian deppities. "Brethren, yo' leadeh's efforts has been rewarded like de oil in de widow's croose. F'm now on us pays back de original 'scription wid a hund'ed per cent intres', an'--hearkin' unto dese words--oveh an' above de 'riginal an' de intres', a bonus equal to de 'vestment! Doan ask what de Lawd means when de blessin' showers down. Git in de rain an' git wet wid cash. Th'ee fo' one--dat's whut pays!"
It was the realness of her that kept him in a state of perpetualamazement
It was the realness of her that kept him in a state of perpetualamazement. To see her moving about the studio, to touch her, to look ather across the dinner-table, to wake in the night and hear herbreathing at his side.... It seemed to him that centuries might pass,yet these things would still be wonderful.
And always in his heart there was the gratitude for what she had donefor him. She had given up everything to share his life. She had weighedhim in the balance against wealth and comfort and her place among thegreat ones of the world, and had chosen him. There were times when thethought filled him with a kind of delirious pride: times, again, whenhe felt a grateful humility that made him long to fall down and worshipthis goddess who had stooped to him.
In a word, he was very young, very much in love, and for the first timein his life was living with every drop of blood in his veins.
* * * * *Hank returned to New York in due course. He came to the studio the samenight, and he had not been there five minutes before a leaden weightdescended on Kirk's soul. It was as he had feared. Ruth did not likehim.
Hank was not the sort of man who makes universal appeal. Also, he wasno ladies' man. He was long and lean and hard-bitten, and his supply ofconventional small talk was practically non-existent. To get the bestout of Hank, as has been said, you had to let him take his coat off andput his feet up on the back of a second chair and reconcile yourself tothe pestiferous brand of tobacco which he affected.
Ruth conceded none of these things. Throughout the interview Hank satbolt upright, tucking a pair of shoes of the dreadnought class coylyunderneath his chair, and drew suspiciously at Turkish cigarettes fromKirk's case. An air of constraint hung over the party. Again and againKirk hoped that Hank would embark on the epic of his life, but shynesskept Hank dumb.
He had heard, on reaching New York, that Kirk was married, but he hadlearned no details, and had conjured up in his mind the vision of ajolly little girl of the Bohemian type, who would make a fuss over himas Kirk's oldest friend. Confronted with Ruth, he lost a nerve whichhad never before failed him. This gorgeous creature, he felt, wouldnever put up with those racy descriptions of wild adventures which hadendeared him to Kirk. As soon as he could decently do so, he left, andKirk, returning to the studio after seeing him out, sat down moodily,trying to convince himself against his judgment that the visit had notbeen such a failure after all.
Ruth was playing the piano softly. She had turned out all the lightsexcept one, which hung above her head, shining on her white arms asthey moved. From where he sat Kirk could see her profile. Her eyes werehalf closed.
The sight of her, as it always did, sent a thrill through him, but hewas conscious of an ache behind it. He had hoped so much that Hankwould pass, and he knew that he had not. Why was it that two people socompletely one as Ruth and himself could not see Hank with the sameeyes?
He knew that she had thought him uncouth and impossible. Why could notHank have exerted himself more, instead of sitting there in thatstuffed way? Why could not Ruth have unbent? Why had not he himselfdone something to save the situation? Of the three, he blamed himselfmost. He was the one who should have taken the lead and made thingspleasant for everybody instead of forcing out conversationalplatitudes.
And always in his heart there was the gratitude for what she had donefor him. She had given up everything to share his life. She had weighedhim in the balance against wealth and comfort and her place among thegreat ones of the world, and had chosen him. There were times when thethought filled him with a kind of delirious pride: times, again, whenhe felt a grateful humility that made him long to fall down and worshipthis goddess who had stooped to him.
In a word, he was very young, very much in love, and for the first timein his life was living with every drop of blood in his veins.
* * * * *Hank returned to New York in due course. He came to the studio the samenight, and he had not been there five minutes before a leaden weightdescended on Kirk's soul. It was as he had feared. Ruth did not likehim.
Hank was not the sort of man who makes universal appeal. Also, he wasno ladies' man. He was long and lean and hard-bitten, and his supply ofconventional small talk was practically non-existent. To get the bestout of Hank, as has been said, you had to let him take his coat off andput his feet up on the back of a second chair and reconcile yourself tothe pestiferous brand of tobacco which he affected.
Ruth conceded none of these things. Throughout the interview Hank satbolt upright, tucking a pair of shoes of the dreadnought class coylyunderneath his chair, and drew suspiciously at Turkish cigarettes fromKirk's case. An air of constraint hung over the party. Again and againKirk hoped that Hank would embark on the epic of his life, but shynesskept Hank dumb.
He had heard, on reaching New York, that Kirk was married, but he hadlearned no details, and had conjured up in his mind the vision of ajolly little girl of the Bohemian type, who would make a fuss over himas Kirk's oldest friend. Confronted with Ruth, he lost a nerve whichhad never before failed him. This gorgeous creature, he felt, wouldnever put up with those racy descriptions of wild adventures which hadendeared him to Kirk. As soon as he could decently do so, he left, andKirk, returning to the studio after seeing him out, sat down moodily,trying to convince himself against his judgment that the visit had notbeen such a failure after all.
Ruth was playing the piano softly. She had turned out all the lightsexcept one, which hung above her head, shining on her white arms asthey moved. From where he sat Kirk could see her profile. Her eyes werehalf closed.
The sight of her, as it always did, sent a thrill through him, but hewas conscious of an ache behind it. He had hoped so much that Hankwould pass, and he knew that he had not. Why was it that two people socompletely one as Ruth and himself could not see Hank with the sameeyes?
He knew that she had thought him uncouth and impossible. Why could notHank have exerted himself more, instead of sitting there in thatstuffed way? Why could not Ruth have unbent? Why had not he himselfdone something to save the situation? Of the three, he blamed himselfmost. He was the one who should have taken the lead and made thingspleasant for everybody instead of forcing out conversationalplatitudes.
Ann Eliza
Ann Eliza, having so far abdicated her independence, sank intosudden apathy. As far as she could remember, it was the first timein her life that she had been taken care of instead of taking care,and there was a momentary relief in the surrender. She swallowedthe tea like an obedient child, allowed a poultice to be applied toher aching chest and uttered no protest when a fire was kindled inthe rarely used grate; but as Mrs. Hawkins bent over to "settle"her pillows she raised herself on her elbow to whisper: "Oh, Mrs.
Hawkins, Mrs. Hochmuller warn't there." The tears rolled down hercheeks.
"She warn't there? Has she moved?""Over two months ago--and they don't know where she's gone.
Oh what'll I do, Mrs. Hawkins?""There, there, Miss Bunner. You lay still and don't fret.
I'll ask Mr. Hawkins soon as ever he comes home."Ann Eliza murmured her gratitude, and Mrs. Hawkins, bendingdown, kissed her on the forehead. "Don't you fret," she repeated,in the voice with which she soothed her children.
For over a week Ann Eliza lay in bed, faithfully nursed by hertwo neighbours, while the weak-eyed child, and the pale sewing girlwho had helped to finish Evelina's wedding dress, took turns inminding the shop. Every morning, when her friends appeared, AnnEliza lifted her head to ask: "Is there a letter?" and at theirgentle negative sank back in silence. Mrs. Hawkins, for severaldays, spoke no more of her promise to consult her husband as to thebest way of tracing Mrs. Hochmuller; and dread of freshdisappointment kept Ann Eliza from bringing up the subject.
But the following Sunday evening, as she sat for the firsttime bolstered up in her rocking-chair near the stove, while MissMellins studied the Police Gazette beneath the lamp, therecame a knock on the shop-door and Mr. Hawkins entered.
Ann Eliza's first glance at his plain friendly face showed herhe had news to give, but though she no longer attempted to hide heranxiety from Miss Mellins, her lips trembled too much to let herspeak.
"Good evening, Miss Bunner," said Mr. Hawkins in his draggingvoice. "I've been over to Hoboken all day looking round for Mrs.
Hochmuller.""Oh, Mr. Hawkins--you HAVE?""I made a thorough search, but I'm sorry to say it was no use.
She's left Hoboken--moved clear away, and nobody seems to knowwhere.""It was real good of you, Mr. Hawkins." Ann Eliza's voicestruggled up in a faint whisper through the submerging tide of herdisappointment.
Mr. Hawkins, in his embarrassed sense of being the bringer ofbad news, stood before her uncertainly; then he turned to go. "Notrouble at all," he paused to assure her from the doorway.
She wanted to speak again, to detain him, to ask himto advise her; but the words caught in her throat and she lay backsilent.
The next day she got up early, and dressed and bonnetedherself with twitching fingers. She waited till the weak-eyedchild appeared, and having laid on her minute instructions as tothe care of the shop, she slipped out into the street. It hadoccurred to her in one of the weary watches of the previous nightthat she might go to Tiffany's and make enquiries about Ramy'spast. Possibly in that way she might obtain some information thatwould suggest a new way of reaching Evelina. She was guiltilyaware that Mrs. Hawkins and Miss Mellins would be angry with herfor venturing out of doors, but she knew she should never feel anybetter till she had news of Evelina.
Hawkins, Mrs. Hochmuller warn't there." The tears rolled down hercheeks.
"She warn't there? Has she moved?""Over two months ago--and they don't know where she's gone.
Oh what'll I do, Mrs. Hawkins?""There, there, Miss Bunner. You lay still and don't fret.
I'll ask Mr. Hawkins soon as ever he comes home."Ann Eliza murmured her gratitude, and Mrs. Hawkins, bendingdown, kissed her on the forehead. "Don't you fret," she repeated,in the voice with which she soothed her children.
For over a week Ann Eliza lay in bed, faithfully nursed by hertwo neighbours, while the weak-eyed child, and the pale sewing girlwho had helped to finish Evelina's wedding dress, took turns inminding the shop. Every morning, when her friends appeared, AnnEliza lifted her head to ask: "Is there a letter?" and at theirgentle negative sank back in silence. Mrs. Hawkins, for severaldays, spoke no more of her promise to consult her husband as to thebest way of tracing Mrs. Hochmuller; and dread of freshdisappointment kept Ann Eliza from bringing up the subject.
But the following Sunday evening, as she sat for the firsttime bolstered up in her rocking-chair near the stove, while MissMellins studied the Police Gazette beneath the lamp, therecame a knock on the shop-door and Mr. Hawkins entered.
Ann Eliza's first glance at his plain friendly face showed herhe had news to give, but though she no longer attempted to hide heranxiety from Miss Mellins, her lips trembled too much to let herspeak.
"Good evening, Miss Bunner," said Mr. Hawkins in his draggingvoice. "I've been over to Hoboken all day looking round for Mrs.
Hochmuller.""Oh, Mr. Hawkins--you HAVE?""I made a thorough search, but I'm sorry to say it was no use.
She's left Hoboken--moved clear away, and nobody seems to knowwhere.""It was real good of you, Mr. Hawkins." Ann Eliza's voicestruggled up in a faint whisper through the submerging tide of herdisappointment.
Mr. Hawkins, in his embarrassed sense of being the bringer ofbad news, stood before her uncertainly; then he turned to go. "Notrouble at all," he paused to assure her from the doorway.
She wanted to speak again, to detain him, to ask himto advise her; but the words caught in her throat and she lay backsilent.
The next day she got up early, and dressed and bonnetedherself with twitching fingers. She waited till the weak-eyedchild appeared, and having laid on her minute instructions as tothe care of the shop, she slipped out into the street. It hadoccurred to her in one of the weary watches of the previous nightthat she might go to Tiffany's and make enquiries about Ramy'spast. Possibly in that way she might obtain some information thatwould suggest a new way of reaching Evelina. She was guiltilyaware that Mrs. Hawkins and Miss Mellins would be angry with herfor venturing out of doors, but she knew she should never feel anybetter till she had news of Evelina.
Saturday, November 3, 2012
Preface In the execution of its purpose to give educational value and moral worth to the recreationa
Preface
In the execution of its purpose to give educational value and moral worth to the recreational activities of the boyhood of America, the leaders of the Boy Scout Movement quickly learned that to effectively carry out its program, the boy must be influenced not only in his out-of-door life but also in the diversions of his other leisure moments. It is at such times that the boy is captured by the tales of daring enterprises and adventurous good times. What now is needful in not that his taste should be thwarted but trained. There should constantly be presented to him the books the boy likes best, yet always the books that will be best for the boy,retro jordans for sale. As a matter of fact, however, the boy's taste is being constantly visited and exploited by the great mass of cheap juvenile literature.
To help anxiously concerned parents and educators to meet this grave peril, the Library Commission of the Boy Scouts of America has been organized. EVERY BOY'S LIBRARY is the result of their labors. All the books chosen have been approved by them. The commission is composed of the following members: George F. Bowerman, Librarian, Public Library of the District of Columbia, Washington, D,moncler womens jackets.C.; Harrison W. Graver, Librarian, Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh, Pa.; Claude G. Leland, Superintendent, Bureau of Libraries, Board of Education, New York City; Edward F. Stevens, Librarian, Pratt Institute Free Library, Brooklyn, New York; together with the Editorial Board of our Movement, William D. Murray,chanel 2.55 bags, George D. Pratt and Frank Presbrey, with Franklin K. Mathiews, Chief Scout Librarian, as Secretary.
In selecting the books,jordans for sale, the Commission has chosen only such as are of interest to boys, the first twenty-five being either works of fiction or stirring stories of adventurous experiences. In later lists, books of a more serious sort will be included. It is hoped that as many as twenty-five may be added to the library each year.
Thanks are due the several publishers who have helped to inaugurate this new department of our work. Without their co-operation in making available for popular priced editions some of the best books ever published for boys, the promotion of EVERY BOY'S LIBRARY would have been impossible.
We wish, too, to express out heartfelt gratitude to the Library Commission, who, without compensation, have placed their vast experience and immense resources at the service of our Movement.
The commission invites suggestions as to future books to be included in the Library. Librarians, teachers, parents, and all others interested in welfare work for boys, can render a unique service by forwarding to National Headquarters lists of such books as in their judgment would be suitable for EVERY BOY'S LIBRARY.
Signed, James E. West.
THE GAUNT GRAY WOLF
Chapter 1 Shad Trowbridge Of Boston
On a foggy morning of early July in the year 1890, the Labrador mail boat, northward bound from St. Johns, felt her way cautiously into the mist-enveloped harbour of Fort Pelican and to her anchorage.
For six days the little steamer had been buffeted by wind and ice and fog, and when at last her engines ceased to throb and she lay at rest in harbour, Allen Shadrach Trowbridge of Boston, her only passenger, felt hugely relieved, for the voyage had been a most unpleasant one, and here he was to disembark.
In the execution of its purpose to give educational value and moral worth to the recreational activities of the boyhood of America, the leaders of the Boy Scout Movement quickly learned that to effectively carry out its program, the boy must be influenced not only in his out-of-door life but also in the diversions of his other leisure moments. It is at such times that the boy is captured by the tales of daring enterprises and adventurous good times. What now is needful in not that his taste should be thwarted but trained. There should constantly be presented to him the books the boy likes best, yet always the books that will be best for the boy,retro jordans for sale. As a matter of fact, however, the boy's taste is being constantly visited and exploited by the great mass of cheap juvenile literature.
To help anxiously concerned parents and educators to meet this grave peril, the Library Commission of the Boy Scouts of America has been organized. EVERY BOY'S LIBRARY is the result of their labors. All the books chosen have been approved by them. The commission is composed of the following members: George F. Bowerman, Librarian, Public Library of the District of Columbia, Washington, D,moncler womens jackets.C.; Harrison W. Graver, Librarian, Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh, Pa.; Claude G. Leland, Superintendent, Bureau of Libraries, Board of Education, New York City; Edward F. Stevens, Librarian, Pratt Institute Free Library, Brooklyn, New York; together with the Editorial Board of our Movement, William D. Murray,chanel 2.55 bags, George D. Pratt and Frank Presbrey, with Franklin K. Mathiews, Chief Scout Librarian, as Secretary.
In selecting the books,jordans for sale, the Commission has chosen only such as are of interest to boys, the first twenty-five being either works of fiction or stirring stories of adventurous experiences. In later lists, books of a more serious sort will be included. It is hoped that as many as twenty-five may be added to the library each year.
Thanks are due the several publishers who have helped to inaugurate this new department of our work. Without their co-operation in making available for popular priced editions some of the best books ever published for boys, the promotion of EVERY BOY'S LIBRARY would have been impossible.
We wish, too, to express out heartfelt gratitude to the Library Commission, who, without compensation, have placed their vast experience and immense resources at the service of our Movement.
The commission invites suggestions as to future books to be included in the Library. Librarians, teachers, parents, and all others interested in welfare work for boys, can render a unique service by forwarding to National Headquarters lists of such books as in their judgment would be suitable for EVERY BOY'S LIBRARY.
Signed, James E. West.
THE GAUNT GRAY WOLF
Chapter 1 Shad Trowbridge Of Boston
On a foggy morning of early July in the year 1890, the Labrador mail boat, northward bound from St. Johns, felt her way cautiously into the mist-enveloped harbour of Fort Pelican and to her anchorage.
For six days the little steamer had been buffeted by wind and ice and fog, and when at last her engines ceased to throb and she lay at rest in harbour, Allen Shadrach Trowbridge of Boston, her only passenger, felt hugely relieved, for the voyage had been a most unpleasant one, and here he was to disembark.
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