Hard luck, Whit.'
"'Jerusalem Hawkins took a drive yesterday afternoon. He had the bay to
his side-bar. Jee's buggy has been recently washed. Congratulations,
Jee.'"
"There's thrilling information!" shouted the foreman. "That'll touch the
gentle reader to the marrow. The boss had to use some pretty rotten copy
himself, but he never got as low as that. But we'll use it; oh, we'll use
it! If we don't get her out he'll have a set-back, but if they show her to
him it'll kill him. If it doesn't, and he gets well, he'll kill us. But
we'll use it, Ross. Don't read any more to us, though; I feel weaker than
I did, and I wasn't strong before. Go down and set it all up."
Mr. Schofield rejoined with an injured air, and yet hopefully: "I'd like
to see what you think of the poetry--it seemed all right to me, but I
reckon you ain't ever the best judge of your own work. Shall I read it?"
The foreman only glanced at him in silence, and the young man took this
for assent. "I haven't made up any name for it yet."
"'O, the orphan boy stood on the hill,
The wind blew cold and very chill--'"
Glancing at his auditors, he was a trifle abashed to observe a glaze upon
the eyes of Mr. Parker, while a purple tide rose above his neck-band and
unnaturally distended his throat and temples. With a placative little
laugh, Mr.
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