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“Mind? What do you mean by that? Anyway, you can’t prove it.” It was not the hour for ghosts, they must be real people. Billy encouraged himself with that thought and wished he could wait for further disclosures. Did the sun ever before go down so fast? He hastened to find his wheel and can, and set out at his best pace. Her breakfast finished, Betty sought the company of Moses, who was in a small shed adjoining the kitchen. He was piling some fire-wood he had carried in from the yard..

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“Can’t I see the faywies some time, Betty?” asked St. Elmo. He sat by the table in his dressing-room with angry storm-swept countenance. He had been capturing loud plaudits with his rag-time, until intoxicated with success, he swept into a tornado of music by Moskowski. The applause died away; two ladies in the front row began chatting. The enraged artist jumped from the piano-stool, and shouting “Pigs!” raced from the platform. “It’s a hurry-up order for more,” Billy amended. Billy hesitated a minute. The dim room, the wicked-looking red lights, Bess so stern and mysterious,—this might frighten the little girl. He ought to wait..