“Now, Mose, fer the elbow. Stiddy! Don’t shove! Don’t pull! Hole her stiddy!”,
Edith worked very hard. She called her operetta “The Triumph of Flora.” The words were her own, written hurriedly and set to familiar though classic airs. Yet many of the daintiest, most tripping melodies she wrote herself. The sorrows of humanity had winged her brain and dipped her pen in harmonies, that she might assuage them.,
CHAPTER VII.—THE LITTLE CHURCH IN THE COULEE.,
“Some of the real stuff,” he requested, “just to make these folks realize they haven’t begun to live yet.”
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So a little church had been built there. The four walls of peeled logs carefully chinked with plaster were now grey and weathered. Inside of the building the red-draped altar, pulpit and reading-desk occupied at least one-third of the available space. There were pews to seat a score of people and behind these was a large heater. The uneven walls were whitewashed. In the windows, three on each side, were alternate blue and white panes of glass.,
Mrs. Newman smiled knowingly; she was familiar with his type, here to-day and gone to-morrow, with falling in love a convenient habit to give zest to the round of vaudeville performances. Mr. Zalhambra caught her smile of incredulity and murmured, “This time it is really fatal.”,
AFTER the disaster of the Fair Ellen, Billy promised his mother to bar explosives from his play, a promise made readily, for “Betsey has been giving it to me good an’ plenty for leaving that door open,” he explained to her. Thus the Alaska trade which the boys intended the Fair Ellen to wrest from Seattle, thereby transferring some of her prosperity to California’s stricken seaport, remained with the northern metropolis; and they sought other outlet for their energies.,
“This here dorg is clean tuckered out,” she declared, “ef he swallered a green pea, you’d see it goin’ down orl the way.”
“Mannel promptly hung his head and made no reply, being much too shy to attempt an answer in English, whatever his thoughts in Russian might have been.
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Mrs. Wopp’s eagle eye, again rested on the lowering face of her offspring.
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Fate led the trio to the theatre where Mr. Zalhambra was playing. Howard took his friends to a box and no sooner were they seated than he espied Nell and Betty.
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Ebenezer Wopp was the last silent word in patient masculinity, but his face, becoming darker with his work, would lead an onlooker to believe that sinister thoughts were struggling to find expression.
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>At this juncture there was a knock at the door. It was Howard Eliot who had called for Nell.
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