There was another door. Open.
“First I’ve heard of it. Mr. Graves—that’s Count Foscatini’s man—went out about half an hour ago, and he said nothing.”
Thin she stared up at him wid her cheeks all red and feverish, and she cryed out suddintly, “Oh papa! papa!” ses she, crowched doon on the harth and sobbed wid her face all ooncuvvered and the teers joost poring down.
Here is a sample letter received; and we get them every day, and above all we are glad to get them and very grateful for them: “I have been taking TROTWOOD’S MONTHLY for the past five months and I want to say to you that I never invested a dollar in my life that I thought I got as much enjoyment out of as I have the one I sent you for TROTWOOD’S MONTHLY. I hope all who take it are as well pleased as myself. Frank Harrington, Eau Claire, Wis.”
“Pardon me, my deer” ses he “but did I oonderstand you to say our naybour’s name was Dudley—S. Judd Dudley?”
Deer Minnie: I hope you are well as this laves me at prisint. Its a long time since I seen yer swate face, but wid the wark of a family of six to do, besides helping Mr. James to cut the lons, Mr. John to plant the gardin, whitewashing of the chicken coop for Mrs. Wolley, I’m clane doon up whin nite cums. But theres anuther kind of wark I’m lately doing, and being its what mite be called mind wark me nerves ar beginning to thrubble me and whin annyone spakes to me at all I shtart upp like a thafe cort at a crime. Its minny a day since I wint to confesshun and me mind is deeply thrubbled wid the thort that the praste will refuse me absilooshun.
“William C. C. Claiborne
“Well,” said the old man, brightening up into one of his funny moods, “you know my first wife was named Kathleen—Kathleen Galloway when she was a gal, an’ she was the pretties’ gal in the settlement an’ could go all the gaits both saddle an’ harness. She was han’som’ as a three-year-old an’ cu’d out-dance, out-ride, out-sing an’ out-flirt any other gal that ever come down the pike. When she got her Sunday harness on an’ began to move, she made all the other gals look like they were nailed to the road-side. It’s true, she needed a little weight in front to balance her, an’ she had a lot of ginger in her make-up, but she was straight and sound, didn’t wear anything but the harness an’ never teched herself anywhere nor cross-fired nor hit her knees.”
Jorgenson laid the matter indignantly before him, repeating the exact phrases that said the trading company wanted—wanted!—practically to give itself to the Never-Mistaken Glen-U, who was the Grand Panjandrum of Thriddar. He waited to be told that it couldn't have happened; that anyhow it couldn't be intended. But the theologian's Thriddish ears went limp, which amounted to the same thing as a man's face turning pale. He stammered agitatedly that if the Grand Panjandrum said it, it was true. It couldn't be otherwise! If the trading company wanted to give itself to him, there was nothing to be done. It wanted to! The Grand Panjandrum had said so!
“Dear me, that is a great blow to me.”
“Proceed, Madame. You comprehend, I am still in the dark.”
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