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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.,

“Aren’t you going to say ‘Good-morning’ to me, Billy?” She put out the slenderest little white hand, and looked into his face appealingly.,

Presently Clarence caught up to him and bore him down a side street lest further attempts at apology should cause him to again accost the irate stranger.,

Zalhambra was a vaudeville artist. His was the star act on each bill. He was undeniably a genius; it needed but a few bars of fortissimo plus crescendo to realize that he was a virtuoso of the first rank. When he played a Rag the audience shouted with delight; but when he sprinkled torrential cadenzas through the dizzying syncopation, like some mighty giant tossing meteors into a handful of fire-crackers, something like an electric shock stirred his hearers.

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“I’ve never worked,” May Nell said reminiscently; “but there’s one hard thing I’ve done—I’ve kept very still when mama has her headaches.”,

“I carn’t think what’s happened to my carrots this year,” said Mrs. Wopp, vexedly, after a time. “Hardly any hev come up, an’ them as did come, aint growed much. We’ll shorely not hev many carrot puddin’s nor pies this winter, nor mulligans neither.” The concluding part of this speech was of vital interest to Moses, who delighted in all the delicacies mentioned.,

“Wot’s the use of livin’ if Betty grows them there wings they talk of?” he demanded of the fowl as they scurried from his path.,

The man gave him an affectionate slap. “Go, then. You’re a right game kid, sure.”