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One o'clock chimes the tiny timepiece on the mantelshelf; outside the sound is repeated somewhere in the distance in graver, deeper tones.,“That’s great!” said Steve Whitney. “Now go ahead and spin me the whole yarn.”,"That was very nasty of me," confesses Mona. "Yet," with a sigh, "perhaps I was right.",Nothing loth to keep the distance between himself and Nell at a minimum, Howard Eliot entered with zest into the boy’s plans.,“Missee Lancastler, she say you heap good show. Now you heap hungly. You catchee him plenty glub.” With that he uncovered a treat that made them forget the circus. They munched the sandwiches, the luscious fruit, candy, and cake, and other good things from Mrs. Lancaster’s generous pantry, and discussed the procession; voted Mrs. Lancaster a trump; and decided to have a circus every year.,“What’s the matter with your life?” he asked quickly. “I’d want nothing better. To be with the Reclamation Service and to have Mr. Whitney for a boss seems pretty good to me!”,He seemed to have been struck dumb by the fury of her candour. His teeth were fastened upon his under lip, his cheek had grown pale.,Miriam Halden rose regretfully. "Sorry to break up the festivities, Miss Jinny," she said, shaking hands, "but our train leaves in just ten minutes, and Madalon has on bran-new pumps with heels that cut her down to a mile an hour. We'll see you all again next week at the house-breaking, as Judith calls it.",“Never mind Mosey, Next Monday I’m goin’ to ask Mar to let me stay home and turn the nasty mouldy machine.”,"I will come, of course," says Mona, nervously, "but I am afraid she will be disappointed. You will excuse me, Mr. Rodney, I am sure," turning graciously to Paul, who is standing with folded arms in the background.,"Well, Tom, I reckon it's none of our funeral whether it turns up or not," growled the other. "We're gettin' paid well fer what we're doin', ain't we? If it turns up, Scroggie and the boss'll have to do their own worryin'.",All of a sudden the Admiral's gaze, that was somewhat heedless—that of a man who takes in a general prospect without regard to particulars—grew intent: his eyes were fixed on Old Harbour. In a minute they grew more than intent: astonishment dilated them, and they were not without the sparkle of alarm. He rubbed his eyes, and removing his pipe from his lips strained his gaze once more at the shipping in the Harbour..