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Pullman herald. (Pullman, W.T. [Wash.]) 1888-1989, December 22, 1888, Image 3

Image and text provided by Washington State Library; Olympia, WA

Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn88085488/1888-12-22/ed-1/seq-3/

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I -■■'V ,i»- Tf -■ - ~ *'*v -. -. - ,_S33l _;_ —
*■\/<Y/£cr—-3s\ I CHRISTMAS
l&>f t'J ■ vl>^* ■" *L f"n!i
--• y&'k! It V"^ r'^ =^««^ Icy and chill,
W %£^J^ IK Littleearewe;
\sirf) W^Lf bXv "«>» «" f''nr
V*S\V « '•*?§{^'.«', >\ » Weather with
vs Witr\VWy out
>^s XJJUV,/' Bhettewd about
N\ |^i-^i-Vsr Tho mahogany
'" "LONG A7^^!E I KNOWED."
This delicious win of the Iloosior poet I
is hefFfirVsented. with duo apologies to I
Judge; which first printed it:
Jes' a little bit o' feller—l remember still— .
t'st to almost cry fer Christmas, tike a youngster
Fourth: p' .lul notliin' to it!— New Year's ain't a ;
smell!— ■•■ '' > <•
Easier Sunday—Circus day—Jes' all dead in the ;
shell: ' i •
Lords.-.thoush :at night, you know, to set around j
and hear ■• ' _"
rhe old folks work the story oil about the sledge
and deer, . . I i
And "Sauty" tkootin' round the roof, all wrapped , |
in I in-and fuzz- - •■ ;
Long afore
.1 knowed who j
Cst to wait, and sot up later a week er two ahead:
Couldn't hardly keep awake, ncr wouldn't go to ;
Ik-<!: . " :
Kittle stewin' 0:1 The fire, nnd Mother s:'ttin" near :
Darnin* socks arid rockin' in the skreeky rocking (
Pap gap', and wonder where it wuz the money
went, i '
And quar'l with his frosted heels, and spill his .
And wo a-drvamin' sleigh bells when the clock ud ■
whir and buzz-
Long afore . :
I knowed who
."SantyClaus" wuz!
Size the fireplace, and fi^.^er how "Old Santy"
Manage to coino down the chimbly, like they said '
he would: . ■ |
Wisht that 1 could hide and see him—wondered , :
what hoM say
Ef he kpWhed a feller layin' for him thataways?
But I bet on him, and liked him, same as ef he had j
Turned to pat me on the back and say, "Look a j
here, my lad: „ „ , j
Here's my pack— hap yoursel like all good
boys does!"
Long •fane
1 knowed who
"Santa Claus" vniz.
Wisbt that yarn wuz true about him as it "peared
to be—
Truth made out o' lies like that-un's good enough
fer uk'.
Wisht 1 still wuz so confidin' I could jes' go wild
Over hangiu' up my stockin's like the little child
■ Climbin' in my lap to-night, and beggtn' me to tell
'Bout them reindeers, and •Old Santy" that she
lores so welt;
I'm half sorry for this little-girl-sweetheart of
his— i
Long afore :
She knows who
"Santy Claus" Is!
2£mas &x£tt\\\so.
' (?. may!) sot s)»uti,
']■' (s dl&sot neatc,
* «n& pfcntjc of fof^M^ cQctvc.
btoe frien&a \»c'ff incctc
V3ifo fanb cfasp grccfC/
"" *or 3tma3 no* is ?ctc. :
Sri It b> 33 it 11 iti3t it gerald.
j! "' ILLSFORD is n pretty little
( ' D village on a river as pure as
!>! .truth, in the liotirt of the
■ -j| Irescpuissus valley, with
;; fsJ mountains walling it in
' north and south. At the timo
I write of it had all the requisites of a
thriving town, including a population
which dripped with self satisfaction.
This very comfortable commodity was
so dense and universal that it fairly cov
ered the place like a fog.
Hillsford's most remarkable citizen was
a hermit, an unkempt and eccentric in
dividual, who lived in a cabin high up
ou the North mountain, and was known
as ''Okl Weaver." In winter, when the
foliate was less abundant, his small
dwelling could W seen from the village,
a little Bpeck of crude architecture, the
smoke from which curled Bometimes into
the very sky. It was pointed out to vis
itors, who were told, without loss of
time, of the hermit, his civilization defy
ing habits and unspeakable apj>caranee.
But it w;:s difficult to exhibit the man
himself, lie came down to the village
at infrequent intervals and then tarried
only Ion;: enough to procure fome simple
necessities and departed without holding
speech with anyone. The townspeople
had tried to break into the privacy of his
home without avail. They had Been re
pulsed with lex.ks and gestures which
inspired fear and helped to confirm the
opinion that ••Old Weaver was crazyand
had better be let alone."
And sorely no man in his right mind
could live the life he lived. His hair and
whiskers showed no respect for the pre
vailing fashion in hirsute trimming, and
his clothes were a slap at all decent p;ar
ments. lie rarely spoke at all. but when
he did his words were briefness itself.
In summer they who went near his
cabin sometimes found him sitting out
feido reading tho Bible, an occupation
from which they could not easily divert
This caused some to decide that he
was "a religious crank." ami helped to
dissipate the theory that he had com
mitted some terrible crime. Hillsford
waa full of wonder about tho hermit's
past life and antecedents, but as there
was absolutely no way of iinding out it
was obliged to remain in cruel ignorance.
All it knew about him was that several
years before the time I speak of he had
arrived in the village, purchased a piece
of land on the top of the mountain,
reared a cabin and l*>gun a life of solitude
perfectly incomprehensible to the people
of the valley.
At last they mostly settled down to
the belief that "Old Weaver had been
crossed in love." Everybody knew that
love, if it did not run smoothly, could
upset people completely. This gave him
exceptional interest in the eyes of the
young and sentimental, although the
most ires>ginative among them could not
picture him as having ever been a per
sonage capable of inspiring the divine
Never were they fully sensible of his
value as a romantic figure until after he
had been "written up" for a New York
journal. A newspaper correspondent,
on his summer vacation, wandered into
Hillsford, and, of course, soon heard
about the hermit, since he was all there
was out;ide of the usual and ur.interest
iii'r is the place. He at once spun out a
column and a half of solid nonpareil,
mostly speculation, tinged wit'i senti
ment, about the curious recluse.
This had a good result. It dismified
the old mail in the minds of tho Xili'ord
ians. It lifted him from the rank of a
crazy old mountaineer to an eccent-ic
hermit, with extraordinary tentiiucnu 1
possibilities behind him.
t *
It was often said* that Weaver would
bo found starred or frozen to death some
time. So every winter there was talk of
'■looking after him," by those in author
ity, but it ended in talk, as lie was i;Ot
exactly the kind of man to dictate to.
In the vernacular of Simpson's grocery,
he was "a hard one to tackle."
In the beginning of the hermit's last
winter on the mountain some hunters,
driven by cold to his cabin, entered and
found him moaning on his rude couch.
They spread the news in Milford, and
'•the authorities" conferred together and
decided that it was time to act. Hut
what should they do with him? Nobody
could go up to his lodge on the mountain
to take care of him; his wretched dwell
ing contained no comforts. And nobody
wanted to take him into his home.
There was the county house, where all
paupers were sent, but that was near
the county seat, seven miles away.
They who were most outspoken in the
matter of having him "looked alter" and
who owned the largest and most com
fortable houses, '•hemmed and hawed"
when it came to a question of taking
him in. Home one, in a moment of hu
mane feeling, suggested that the seven
miles' journey to the poorhouse might
prove dangerous to the sick man, and
might even throw serious blame on those
who became responsible for it.
However, after much thought and
wore talk had been put upon the subject,
the poorhouse faction prevailed, and the
fiat went forth that Old Weaver must be
taken charge of by the county, willing or
The expedition set forth the next
morning. It was principally composed
of "the authorities," otherwise hard
headed and dictatorial personages, with
that degree of heartlessncss peculiar to
the class known as "prominent citizens."
A heavy snow lay upon the ground, and
the mountain roads were unbroken. A
big sled, generously supplied with straw
and lunch baskets, was made ready.
The departure of this hermit capturing
expedition was an event. The postoffice
loafers gazed upon the imposing specta
cle with envy in their hearts, though
they cheered the noble philanthropists
roundly. The people at the corner drug
store were all outside waving their hats
and making other demonstrations of
good will anil interest. The yarn
spinners at Simpson's grocery held
their tobacco firmly between their teeth
and their hands in their trousers' pockets
as the sled went by. This was their
manner of expressing a very warm in
terest. .. Women watched from doors,
windows a" ! porches, as women always
do, and a ;, .varm of enthusiastic small
boys hung on to the sled until driven
back when half a mile out of town.
The philanthropists reached Weaver's
cabin late in the day, after digging their
way through great snowdrifts. All this
heroic exertion made them feel more
dominant in spirit than ever. The very
first rap on the hermit's door had tho
sound of authority in it. delivered as it
waa by the formidable tist of the town
marshal, hacked by the approbation of
the other prominent citizens who accom
panied him.
There was no response.
The expression of decision on the mar
shal's face deepened as he began to beat
upon the door with both fi.^ts and kick
it with the thick soles of his tremendous
Still there was no answer.
While they were parleying about
whether it was time to use the nxor
not the closed shutter of the hermit's
single window opened, revealing his
haggard face, in which blazed a pair of
eves whose wrathful lightning fairly an
nihilated the prominent citizens.
"What do joo want?* ha asked, after
a moment of discomfiting silence, as
they stood, wordless, under the spell of
his unspoken anger.
"Wo heard you were sick," eaid the
"Wo knew you would need help,'' said
the justice of* the peace, •■and so caint
to try to do something for you."
•'You have put yourselves to unneces
sary trouble. I want nothing.''
"But our duty as citizens will not
allow us to lot a fellow being suffer,"'
said Deacon White.
"Your iirst duty is to mind your own
business." said the hermit.
'Hero is Dr. Horsefly, who will help
you right ofF, if you wili let us in," said
Mr. Smollett, also a prominent citizen.
The. doctor stood silent, medicine case in
hand, the rigidity of tho regular's code
preventing his doing any trumpeting on
his own account.
"When I am weary of life I shall send
for Dr. Horsefly. Until then he must
excuse me." returned the hermit, with
something like merriment dancing in his
wild eyes.
The doctor colored under this deadly
insult, feeling it the more because the
earth was y.t fresh over his two last
patients. This offen.-ive defiance at their
authority was the tacitly understood
signal for a concerted rally of tho rescu
ers. Instinctively they drew neirer to
gether, and one said:
"Como. come. Weaver, this is no way
to do. We arc hero in the friendliest
spirit, and are sincerely anxious to have
you taken care of.. You are a sick man..
lou outcut not to be ;iloi:o us yo\i are."
'■Well, what do j'ou propose to do with
"Why, wliy—take you where you will
bo properly cared for. of course,"
answered Justice MeCracken.
"Now, that is kind, I admit," said the
hermit, and he looked at thorn with a
strange, amused expression in his eyes.
Believing that they were gaining ground,
they grew bolder.
"Vis, we wi.sli to he kind. We can't
let you perish up here, you know."
"Well, where do you propose to take
'•Hem. h'm: why, you see. Weaver—
you see llillsford has uo hospital—
"But you have fixed upon some place
for me, I presume?" questioned the her
mit, in tho touo of one about to sur
"V-e-s," spoke up another. "Wt
thought wo would take you to Johns
"All, that's the county seat, isn't it?"
"Ami the county house is near there,
isn't it?"
"Well, that's a good enough place for
any one who wants to go there. 1 don't.
Now it is time for you to leave," and he
shut the window.
The besiegers conferred together and
again began to beat upon the door. Feel
ing more courageous when Weaver's
wild eyes were not on them they called
to him that ho must consent to go with
them, or they would take him by force.
. The window o|>encd once more and re
vealed the gaunt form of the hermit
grasping a shotgun. Instinctively the
attacking party fell back a few paces.
The hermit spoke: "1 will How the
head off any man who again lavs a hand
upon my door. lam in my own bouse,
on my own ground, and there is not lav*
enough in the republic to permit you to
enter and lay a hand on a man who is
neither criminal nor pauper. Had you
come hero proffering private charity 1
should have resented it, but I should
have respected you. As it is I will kill
you like dogs if you trouble mo a mo
ment more." And he pointed the gun
at them in a way that was convincing.
Grumblingly they moved away, "lie's
right," said the justice, who had a mor
tal fear of firearms: "he's not a pauper.
He owns this ground and he owns the
house. If he won't come with us wil
lingly we shall have to let him alone."
"He's as crazy as a kite." piped up two
or three others, anxious to cover up their
"He ought to he confined as a danger
ous lunatic," said the doctor, in whose
bosom btiil rankled Weaver's poisoned
am >w.
They reached HiUsford in a crestfallen
frame'of mind, aUagreeing that the her
mit mightVliea dozen times over before
they would "put themselves out" to do
anything for him again.
Two weeks later, when the weather
was bitter cold. Hobby Hart, a sturdy
12-year-old, rushed into his mother's
sitting room one afternoon, bursting
i with news. "Old Weaver's in town," he
His mother looked up from her sewing
machine with interest. Like everybody
'■ else in Ilillsford she knew tho history of
the fruitless siege of the hermit's cabin.
"Yes. he's here; awful sick, too; out
of his head, and is lying on the Boor in
the back part of Hunt's grocery. They're
gbin' to Bend him to the poorhouse at
"Not i". this terrible weather," said
Mrs. Hart, looking alarmed.
"Yes; right off. There's no placo here
for him, they say."'
"No place fora poor old sick mnn in
; all HiUsford? We are not so bad as that,
Robby, I am sure."'
"(th. but I heard .Tudge Markle and
Deacon White and all of them say so.
i It's settled."
"Perhaps not." said Mrs. Hart as she
began to put on her bonnet and cloak.
She was. perhaps, the poorest person of
refinement and education in the town
! and the most benevolent. She vras a
| widow, whoso only dower were a boy of
12 and a girl of '/years. By sewing al
most night and day she managed to keep
the wolf out of sight.
Accompanied by Robby she went over
i to Hunt's to see the hermit, and at once
i knew that he was sick unto death. As
the sled which was to transport him to
Johnstown drew up at the door Mrs.
! Hart touched the arm of Judge Russell,
who seemed to be clothed with more
' authority just then than any of the other
"prominent citizens" who hbvered about,
and said:
"I will take care of Weaver if you will
send him to my house. He is a very sick
man, already greatly exhausted by his
journey down the mountain. The drive
to Johnstown might kill him."
"Really, Mrs. Hart, you"ro always do
ing too "much for others. Young Dr.
Clay was in here a bit ago, and ho said
the'old fellow oughtn't to be moved co
far. But you'd better think twice before
1 you take him. He'll Lo an awful
I charge.'
••I know that, 7' she answered; "but 1
i will take him and do the best 1 can for
I him." Ho the hermit was pat upon the
i Bled and delivered at Mr. Hart a like a
halo of merchandise. The widow's un
selfishness kindled a temporary flame of
the same nature in other breasts, ::::<l for
the moment volunteer help was plenty.
She took advantage of some of thi.: to get
her patient bathed and barbercd and pat
to bed in a comfortable, Christian way.
Then began for her weeks of care,
work and anxiety. The sewing machine
was silent, with tho unpleasant conse
quence of low finances. Contributions to
tho comfort of the sick man fell away as
time passed and tho affair became an
old story. Young Dr. Clay alone re
mained faithful. The donations of others
had dwindled down to advice. All in all
Mrs. Hart had "a hard pull of it."
At last the hermit became convales
cent. Finding himself in a home where
refinement and kindness prevailed, he
fell into the ways of its inmates as nat
urally as if ho had been accustomed to
civilization all his life. lie talked geni
ally and charmingly, and seemed pos
sessed of as much information as any
man of the world. Clad in his right
mind and conventional clothes, he lost
his character of hermit entirely. Many
of the signs of ago, too. had disappeared
under tho good offices of the tailor and
the barber. He did not look a day over 45.
He was (jiiite well now. but he showed
no disposition to return to his semi-sav
age life, so far as anyone outside of Mrs.
Hails home knew.
Christmas was almost at band. Hills
ford was busy buying its presents and
getting t!|> festivities. At Mrs. Hart's
the preparations were on a scale so
simple that they wcro almost pathetic.
Two days before Christmas the town
had something new to talk about. A
middle aged gentleman and lady of tho
upper class, apparently, arrived at the
HiHsfonl hotel and asked for Weaver.
While they rested and dined they wore
regaled with the story of the hermit's
queer doings, the ineffectual attempt to
send him to the poorhov.se, the widow
Hart's interference and everything.
Then they were piloted to the Hart door,
and for two days afterward, although
the town was almost eaten up by curios
ity, it could find out nothing at all about
It got the whole story on Christmas
from The Weekly Chronicle.
""" c:Jr
Our readers will be surprised end gratified to
learn that Mrs. Caroline Hart was married night
before last to Hr. Vincent H. Weaver, of New
York. The ceremony took place at. tho bride's
home at 8 o'clock. The groom's sister, Mrs. c. P.
Stevenson, and her husband, also of New York,
end two or three of the bride's closest friends
were the only guests.
Mrs. Hart, now Mrs. Weaver, as everybody
knows, is one of the most highly respected ladies
of Hillsford. Although far from rich, she has
been philanthropic to on extraordinary degree.
Every one knows how Weaver, the hermit, fell
sick one day early in the winter when he came
into town to buy some supplies, and Mrs. Halt had
him. removed to her cottage to prevent his being
taken to the county house at Johnstown. But not
until recently did any one know that Herman
Weaver the hermit, and Vincent 11. Weaver the
celebrated author were one and the same.
It has been generally believed that our hermit
had been the victim of some cruelty at Cupid's
hands, and for this reason had deserted the so
ciety of his fellow men. We learn from good
authority that this diagnosis was incorrect. He
lived in his mountain cabin because hecoukl there
devote himself to the work of writing his books
without the risk of being lured away by any of
the thousand diversions which tempt him from
his toil in the city. His character of semi-savage
I was assumed to protect him from intruders.
Mr. Weaver really did not live in his mountain
lodge half the time he was supposed to. Often,
for months together, he would be absent, mixing
with the wits and litterateurs of the metropolis.
He has even been several times to Europe, while
Qwpeople of HiilsforJ supposed him to be within
bis solitary cabin.
Eccentric he is, to bo sure. For instance, we
have been toltl that before he spoke of marriage
to Mrs. Han he put StDJBBO in her us^« in a sub- |
stautial New York bank and settled h handsome
sum upon each of her two children. He wished
to make her Independent before tad question of
marriage was discussed, and he considered hei
entitled to all he could do for her for having takea
him to her how. thereby saving his life when he
was at death's door.
This is a true love match, without doubt. Their
Christmas gift is the very best in Santa Clans"
pack. It is labeled "Love," and comprehends the
better part of earth and • portion of heaven.
Mr. Weaver made a final trip to his cabin on the
mountain the other day, and wrote across its door
in big letters, "It is not good for man to be alone."
Mr. and Mrs. Weaver will build a splendid bouse
uere for their summer home, but will spend their
winters in New York. They left yesterday to
finish the season there. We wish them every hap
piness under the sun. ,
This startling piece of news caused
many an eye to protrude when it was
read. "1 always thought that Mrs. Hart
was a designing thing. Sly, oh, so sly.
I'll warrant she knew that Weaver was a
rich man or she never would have taken
lima in.'' said a woman who, only a
month before, had expressed the iear
that the widow "would have old Weaver
on kes hanas for life."
Geeteude Garrison.
Beautiful and right it is that gifts and
good wishes should till the air like snow
flakes at Christmas tide. .And beautiful
is the year in its coming and in its going
—most beautiful' and blessed because it
13 always the Year of Our Lord. w
.. ... —. — - . . .£.;;.
Mil. DAMN.
"SCHOOL." etc.
"Would you have the I hlilmwi to stop this
wav, sir, into Mr. Dawbarn's roomr"
These words wore addressed by a banker's
clerk to a young man whoso dress and man
ners were a vulgar compound of groom,
betting man, and pugilist. The sporting;
gentleman swaggered by the desks and the*
clerks, looking infinite disparagement at the*
whole concern, and was ushered through tho
doable doors into presence of Mr. Dawbaro.
Mr. Da wbarn was the principal banker in
Bramlingdon, and Bramlingdon was tho
county town of the little comity of Muff
it consisted of one long, straggling street,
beautified by five old churches, each a
splendid specimen of architecture, which:
contrasted strongly with the Town Hal),
the Corn Exchange, and the Market, Place,
which were modern buildings, and unpleasant
to look at.
"Mr. Stridden," said Mr. Dawbarn to th&
young gentleman of sporting appearance,
: 'l uavo to talk to you, sir, very seriously j
sit down, if yon please."
Mr. Studdensat in a chair as if it were A
saddle, shut one eyo knowingly, and ex
amined the thong of his whip with the other.
"Mr. Studded," continued the banker
solemnly, "1 have, been informed that 30a
have overdrawn your account to the amount;
"Yes; 1 know all about that, governor ?*
broke in Mr. Btndden. "I've- been told so
"1 therefore gave directions that the next
time you presented a check, you should bo
shown in here to me," said tho hanker.
"That is—a check of my own drawing." \
"Q.iito so."
'•Well, bow I am here," said Mr. Stedden,
goading the side of his imaginary horse with
ins left heel; "respectful comps, and should)
like to know your littb game. What's to bo
"Mr. Sudden, I have known you from a
"Well, I know that."
"And I now see you a ruined man"
"Hold hard, Matilda," interrupted Stud
den; "not ruined—pushed for the moment —
on my knees, but not staked. I'vo been un
lucky on tho races this last year—unlucky at
play. Why, last night 1 tost a pot at 100,
and then that girl behaved to me in"
Mr. Studden," said the banker, closing his
eye-, "1 cannot listen to a catalogue of your
cri—cri — imprudences. I am tho father of a
family, and"
"Cut that, governor!" broke in the amiable
Mr. Btndden. "What 1 want is money, and
not preaching—nopreaeheo and floggeo too.
This is the state of the odds. I've overdrawn
:mv account, good; will you let mo havo
I>' me more! tin, 1 mean. If you will, I ant
sure to retrieve myself. I've some splendid
things on, but must have the ready—ti—id.
"Mr. Studden," said Mr. Dawborn, "I do
not understand your jargon, nor is such lan
guage tho sort of thing I am accustomed to
hear. You have lost the fortune left you by
your father in gambling, horse racing-, and
—and the like. For the last seven years I
have seen going to irretrievable ruin. As you
had a long minority, and no friends to advise
yon, 1 have tried to help you, but 1
regret to say, your complete ruin is inevita-
"Bet you fifteen to one it isn't!" said Mr,
"\Wmr you owe me," continued the banker,
not noticing the. interruption— "what you
owe mo 1 shall never trouble you for."
"Bless you.'"' said the irreverent Studden.
Mr. Dawbarn'a [ace reddened. "Mr. Stud
den," be choked oat, "I am not accustomed
to bo treated with rudeness, and 1 don't mean
to begin no 1 would have given you some.
advice, sir."
; "Don"C want it, thank you."
"Good advice, parental advice; but it will
be of bo use, 1 can tec."
"Not a bis."
'•I shall leave you therefore to the pursuit
of your career of profligacy, and may it —
may it,'' Mr. Dswbara stammered, for he
felt that ho was proposing a, toast at a public
meeting—"may it prove to you that ——
that/ ■
"Oat with it, governor," said the insolent
young sporting man.
"No, sir, I will not out with it." said the
banker, majestically. "I will not say what
I was going to .-ay."
"Are you quite clear what you were going
to say?" inquired the young man, who- re
spected neither age nor wealth.
Mr. Dawbaru covered bis defeat grandly. -
"I will not detain you any longer, Mr. Stud
« ._ ,t TT *.L~ lull t(T m—i*X. ~ .»
den." lie rang the bell. "I wish you good
Jay. sir; my servant will show you out."
"Very good, governor," said Mr. Studden,
| dismounting from his chair, or saUdie. "You
! throw mo over— very good; and just at the
| moment when I could make a colossal for
! tune. If 1 had your capital, or you had my
i talent and speculated—ka foozilaml —what
| might not be made with the tip* I have! I
' know the way out, Chawles"— this Mr. Stud
den addressed to the servant— "you needn't
show me. Mr. Dawbarn, I have the honor
to be, sir, yours truly, ever to command, et
Mr. Studden departed with a flourish,
| leaving tho banker in a state of the most
wrathful indignation. Mr. Darrbarn was a
great man in Brainu'ngdon and accustomed
to be treated with respect and deference and
servility, and though so excellent a person,
Hr. Dawbarn was something of a humbug,
and the young man's manners had convinced
him that he knew it, and it Is very annoying
to men of 50 years of age to be found out by
their juniors. Mr. Robert Studden, or, as he
was called, Mr. Bob Studden, cr Mr. Rip
Stodden, swaggered past the cashier-and
clerks with the ease of a jockey and the grace
of a groom. A dozen steps from the door of
the bank he met a clerk whom ho stopped.
"Halloa f* he cried, with graceful badinage,
"Stnaro, how goes itr' '
"How do you do, Mr. Studies?" in^irei
tie dark,
'•3out to la c-jsh a harry. VTcII, boo Is
• Mr. Es-^-r — \*<-
"Doit to afraid, ay bay. Va not the •
:::-r to ;-.-.:; c>ort. cc; bolt clth tier?
Usltl. I'd Uad you c; It=t2vcr to talp yon.
I cat? Ton '-- ct'.w —'-'—--C' Ki-t;ids-roii
»-• *' ■> •■ «

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