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Connor, Ralph, Pseudonym, 1860-1937

"The Sky Pilot, a Tale of the Foothills"

"
This was altogether too much for the crowd. They consigned Bill and his
plans to unutterable depths of woe.
"O' course," Bill explained, "it's jest as you boys feel about it. Mebbe
I was, bein' hot, a little swift in givin' 'em the bluff."
"Not much, you wasn't! We'll see you out! That's the talk! There's
between twenty and thirty of us here."
"I should be glad to contribute thirty or forty if need be," said The
Duke, who was standing not far off, "to assist in the building of a
church. It would be a good thing, and I think the parson should be
encouraged. He's the right sort."
"I'll cover your thirty," said young Hill; and so it went from one to
another in tens and fifteens and twenties, till within half an hour I
had entered three hundred and fifty dollars in my book, with Ashley yet
to hear from, which meant fifty more. It was Bill's hour of triumph.
"Boys," he said, with solemn emphasis, "ye're all white. But that leetle
pale-faced gel, that's what I'm thinkin' on. Won't she open them big
eyes ov hers! I cherish the opinion that this'll tickle her some."
The men were greatly pleased with Bill and even more pleased with
themselves. Bill's picture of the "leetle gel" and her pathetically
tragic lot had gone right to their hearts and, with men of that stamp,
it was one of their few luxuries to yield to their generous impulses.


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