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ten years of prestige

He hung his head and braced himself to meet what was justly coming to him. She would despise him now, he knew. He felt a gentle touch on his arm, and raised his face slowly. The girl's red lips were smiling. He could scarcely believe his eyes.,

"Then Jim he begged him not to do that. 'We'll pay you whatever's right fer your horse, sir,' he says, but Johnston jest snorted. 'Where would you get fifty dollars!' he says, but Jim, he nudged me to keep quiet, an' said: 'I've got fifty dollars of my very own, right here, sir. We'll buy your horse an' take chances on findin' him, if you'll sell him to us.',

"'Course I do.",

The Admiral missed the sea; he was near it, nay, in heavy weather within sound of it, but not a glimpse of the blue deep could be caught through the windows. He had retired on a pension and on trifling private means which rendered this retreat the fittest he could have chosen for the convenience of his purse and for the simple tastes of his life. Here he lived with an old servant and a young girl, and now with his son; but he was always hoping that this last obligation would not be continuous, though the prospect of getting anything to do in such an obscure corner of the earth as Old Harbour Town was as remote as the possibility of Mr Lawrence ever becoming Prime Minister of England. Yet a secret hope, an indeterminable dream, one of those imaginations which make blessed the possessors of the sanguine temperament, buoyed the Admiral. Who could tell? Something might happen! Walter might fall in with a man who should prove a friend, even in that very haunt, "The Swan," which seemed obnoxious to his interests. Thus the old fellow would reason without logic, or even knowing what he was talking to himself about.

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The girl nodded. "And what will you name her?" she asked. Into Billy's cheeks the blood sprang as into his heart joy ran riot.,

"So, I don't shoot partridge neither," said Billy. "I don't blame anybody else fer shootin' 'em, remember, but somehow, I'd rather leave 'em alive.",

"One morning something over a year ago a queer little man came to my office. He told me his name, Scroggie, but refused to give me any address. He said he wished to make his will and insisted that I draw it up. It was a simple will, as I remember it, merely stating that 'I something-or-other, Scroggie, hereby bequeath all my belongings, including land and money, to Frank Stanhope.' I made it out exactly as he worded it, had it sealed and witnessed and handed it to him. But the old fellow refused to take it. I asked him why, and he said: 'You keep it safe until I send for it. I'm willin' to pay for your trouble.',

"Have you secured a berth, Miss?" asked the Admiral, with a hearty, jolly smile.