FREE BOOKS

Author's List




PREV.   NEXT  
|<   7   8   9   10   11   12   13   14   15   16   17   18   19   20   21   22   23   24   25   26   27   28   29   30   31  
32   33   34   35   36   37   38   39   40   41   42   43   44   45   46   47   48   49   50   51   52   53   54   55   56   >>   >|  
WAYNE. (14) I do. BRIGGS. (15) Are you mad? WAYNE. (16) Thoroughly. And extremely busy. BRIGGS. (17) For the last time, Stuyve Briggs, are you going to bounce one defaulting poet and progeny, arrange to have survey and warnings posted, order timber and troughs for hatchery, engage extra patrol--or are you not? WAYNE. (18) No. BRIGGS. (19) (_Received a day later by Mr. Wayne._) Are you coming? BRIGGS. (20) I'm coming to punch your head. WAYNE. II [Illustration] When George Wayne arrived at Rose-Cross station, seaburnt, angry, and in excellent athletic condition, Briggs locked himself in the waiting-room and attempted to calm the newcomer from the window. "If you're going to pitch into me, George," he said, "I'm hanged if I come out, and you can go to Guilford's alone." "Come out of there," said Wayne dangerously. "It isn't because I'm afraid of you," explained Briggs, "but it's merely that I don't choose to present either you or myself to a lot of pretty girls with the marks of conflict all over our eyes and noses." At the words "pretty girls" Wayne's battle-set features relaxed. He motioned to the Pullman porter to deposit his luggage on the empty platform; the melancholy bell-notes of the locomotive sounded, the train moved slowly forward. "Pretty girls?" he repeated in a softer voice. "Where are they staying? Of course, under the circumstances a personal encounter is superfluous. Where are they staying?" "At Guilford's. I told you so in my telegrams, didn't I?" "No, you didn't. You spoke only of a poet and his eight helpless children." "Well, those girls are the eight children," retorted Briggs sullenly, emerging from the station. "Do you mean to tell me----" "Yes, I do. They're his children, aren't they--even if they are girls, and pretty." He offered a mollifying hand; Wayne took it, shook it uncertainly, and fell into step beside his friend. "Eight pretty girls," he repeated under his breath. "What did you do, Stuyve?" "What was I to do?" inquired Briggs, nervously worrying his short blond mustache. "When I arrived here I had made up my mind to fire the poet and arrange for the hatchery and patrol. The farther I walked through the dust of this accursed road, lugging my suit-case as you are doing now, the surer I was that I'd get rid of the poet witho
PREV.   NEXT  
|<   7   8   9   10   11   12   13   14   15   16   17   18   19   20   21   22   23   24   25   26   27   28   29   30   31  
32   33   34   35   36   37   38   39   40   41   42   43   44   45   46   47   48   49   50   51   52   53   54   55   56   >>   >|  



Top keywords:
Briggs
 
BRIGGS
 

pretty

 

children

 

Guilford

 

coming

 

station

 

arrived

 

George

 
patrol

arrange
 

staying

 

repeated

 

hatchery

 

Stuyve

 
sounded
 

melancholy

 

platform

 
locomotive
 

helpless


forward

 

encounter

 

personal

 

superfluous

 
telegrams
 

slowly

 

circumstances

 

Pretty

 

softer

 

farther


walked
 
mustache
 
accursed
 

lugging

 

offered

 
mollifying
 

sullenly

 

retorted

 

emerging

 
breath

inquired

 
nervously
 

worrying

 

friend

 

uncertainly

 
Received
 
excellent
 
athletic
 

condition

 
seaburnt