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[6s&7s] [Editorial] any one -> anyone
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<p>Soon <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Bellmore’s maid was packing. In two hours the auto would come to convey her to the station. As Terence was strolling upon the east piazza, <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Bellmore came up to him, with a confidential sparkle in her eye.</p>
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<p>“I didn’t wish to tell the others all of it,” she said, “but I will tell you. In a way, I think you should be held responsible. Can you guess in what manner that ghost awakened me last night?”</p>
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<p>“Rattled chains,” suggested Terence, after some thought, “or groaned? They usually do one or the other.”</p>
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<p>“Do you happen to know,” continued <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Bellmore, with sudden irrelevancy, “if I resemble any one of the female relatives of your restless ancestor, Captain Kinsolving?”</p>
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<p>“Do you happen to know,” continued <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Bellmore, with sudden irrelevancy, “if I resemble anyone of the female relatives of your restless ancestor, Captain Kinsolving?”</p>
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<p>“Don’t think so,” said Terence, with an extremely puzzled air. “Never heard of any of them being noted beauties.”</p>
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<p>“Then, why,” said <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Bellmore, looking the young man gravely in the eye, “should that ghost have kissed me, as I’m sure it did?”</p>
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<p>“Heavens!” exclaimed Terence, in wide-eyed amazement; “you don’t mean that, <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Bellmore! Did he actually kiss you?”</p>
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<p>“But why did you say I was responsible?”</p>
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<p>“Because you are the only living male relative of the ghost.”</p>
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<p>“I see. ‘Unto the third and fourth generation.’ But, seriously, did he—did it—how do you—?”</p>
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<p>“Know? How does any one know? I was asleep, and that is what awakened me, I’m almost certain.”</p>
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<p>“Know? How does anyone know? I was asleep, and that is what awakened me, I’m almost certain.”</p>
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<p>“Almost?”</p>
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<p>“Well, I awoke just as—oh, can’t you understand what I mean? When anything arouses you suddenly, you are not positive whether you dreamed, or—and yet you know that—Dear me, Terence, must I dissect the most elementary sensations in order to accommodate your extremely practical intelligence?”</p>
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<p>“But, about kissing ghosts, you know,” said Terence, humbly, “I require the most primary instruction. I never kissed a ghost. Is it—is it—?”</p>
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<header>
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<h2 epub:type="title">Holding Up a Train</h2>
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<blockquote epub:type="epigraph">
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<p><b>Note.</b> The man who told me these things was for several years an outlaw in the Southwest and a follower of the pursuit he so frankly describes. His description of the modus operandi should prove interesting, his counsel of value to the potential passenger in some future “holdup,” while his estimate of the pleasures of train robbing will hardly induce any one to adopt it as a profession. I give the story in almost exactly his own words.</p>
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<p><b>Note.</b> The man who told me these things was for several years an outlaw in the Southwest and a follower of the pursuit he so frankly describes. His description of the modus operandi should prove interesting, his counsel of value to the potential passenger in some future “holdup,” while his estimate of the pleasures of train robbing will hardly induce anyone to adopt it as a profession. I give the story in almost exactly his own words.</p>
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<p class="signature">
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<abbr>O. H.</abbr>
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</p>
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<p>But on certain “off” days when confessions are coming in slowly and three or four newspapers have run to earth as many different guilty persons, Jolnes will knock about the town with me, exhibiting, to my great delight and instruction, his marvellous powers of observation and deduction.</p>
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<p>The other day I dropped in at Headquarters and found the great detective gazing thoughtfully at a string that was tied tightly around his little finger.</p>
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<p>“Good morning, Whatsup,” he said, without turning his head. “I’m glad to notice that you’ve had your house fitted up with electric lights at last.”</p>
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<p>“Will you please tell me,” I said, in surprise, “how you knew that? I am sure that I never mentioned the fact to any one, and the wiring was a rush order not completed until this morning.”</p>
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<p>“Will you please tell me,” I said, in surprise, “how you knew that? I am sure that I never mentioned the fact to anyone, and the wiring was a rush order not completed until this morning.”</p>
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<p>“Nothing easier,” said Jolnes, genially. “As you came in I caught the odour of the cigar you are smoking. I know an expensive cigar; and I know that not more than three men in New York can afford to smoke cigars and pay gas bills too at the present time. That was an easy one. But I am working just now on a little problem of my own.”</p>
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<p>“Why have you that string on your finger?” I asked.</p>
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<p>“That’s the problem,” said Jolnes. “My wife tied that on this morning to remind me of something I was to send up to the house. Sit down, Whatsup, and excuse me for a few moments.”</p>
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<p>“I ran away that night. I walked to Atlanta and found work. I gave myself the name of Rose Chester, and have earned my own living ever since. Now you know why I cannot marry Ralph—and, oh, I can never tell him why.”</p>
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<p>Better than any sympathy, more helpful than pity, was Father Abram’s depreciation of her woes.</p>
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<p>“Why, dear, dear! is that all?” he said. “Fie, fie! I thought something was in the way. If this perfect young man is a man at all he will not care a pinch of bran for your family tree. Dear Miss Rose, take my word for it, it is yourself he cares for. Tell him frankly, just as you have told me, and I’ll warrant that he will laugh at your story, and think all the more of you for it.”</p>
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<p>“I shall never tell him,” said Miss Chester, sadly. “And I shall never marry him nor any one else. I have not the right.”</p>
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<p>“I shall never tell him,” said Miss Chester, sadly. “And I shall never marry him nor anyone else. I have not the right.”</p>
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<p>But they saw a long shadow come bobbing up the sunlit road. And then came a shorter one bobbing by its side; and presently two strange figures approached the church. The long shadow was made by Miss Phoebe Summers, the organist, come to practise. Tommy Teague, aged twelve, was responsible for the shorter shadow. It was Tommy’s day to pump the organ for Miss Phoebe, and his bare toes proudly spurned the dust of the road.</p>
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<p>Miss Phoebe, in her lilac-spray chintz dress, with her accurate little curls hanging over each ear, courtesied low to Father Abram, and shook her curls ceremoniously at Miss Chester. Then she and her assistant climbed the steep stairway to the organ loft.</p>
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<p>In the gathering shadows below, Father Abram and Miss Chester lingered. They were silent; and it is likely that they were busy with their memories. Miss Chester sat, leaning her head on her hand, with her eyes fixed far away. Father Abram stood in the next pew, looking thoughtfully out of the door at the road and the ruined cottage.</p>
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<p>“Take it, honey,” said Uncle Mose. “Hit belongs to you. Hit’s Talbot money.”</p>
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<p>After Uncle Mose had gone, Miss Lydia had a good cry—for joy; and the major turned his face to a corner, and smoked his clay pipe volcanically.</p>
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<p>The succeeding days saw the Talbots restored to peace and ease. Miss Lydia’s face lost its worried look. The major appeared in a new frock coat, in which he looked like a wax figure personifying the memory of his golden age. Another publisher who read the manuscript of the “Anecdotes and Reminiscences” thought that, with a little retouching and toning down of the high lights, he could make a really bright and salable volume of it. Altogether, the situation was comfortable, and not without the touch of hope that is often sweeter than arrived blessings.</p>
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<p>One day, about a week after their piece of good luck, a maid brought a letter for Miss Lydia to her room. The postmark showed that it was from New York. Not knowing any one there, Miss Lydia, in a mild flutter of wonder, sat down by her table and opened the letter with her scissors. This was what she read:</p>
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<p>One day, about a week after their piece of good luck, a maid brought a letter for Miss Lydia to her room. The postmark showed that it was from New York. Not knowing anyone there, Miss Lydia, in a mild flutter of wonder, sat down by her table and opened the letter with her scissors. This was what she read:</p>
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<blockquote epub:type="z3998:letter">
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<p epub:type="salutation">Dear Miss Talbot:</p>
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<p>I thought you might be glad to learn of my good fortune. I have received and accepted an offer of two hundred dollars per week by a New York stock company to play Colonel Calhoun in “A Magnolia Flower.”</p>
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<p>She thought he began to look thinner and discouraged. Her heart ached to add something good to eat to his meagre purchase, but her courage failed at the act. She did not dare affront him. She knew the pride of artists.</p>
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<p>Miss Martha took to wearing her blue-dotted silk waist behind the counter. In the back room she cooked a mysterious compound of quince seeds and borax. Ever so many people use it for the complexion.</p>
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<p>One day the customer came in as usual, laid his nickel on the showcase, and called for his stale loaves. While Miss Martha was reaching for them there was a great tooting and clanging, and a fire-engine came lumbering past.</p>
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<p>The customer hurried to the door to look, as any one will. Suddenly inspired, Miss Martha seized the opportunity.</p>
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<p>The customer hurried to the door to look, as anyone will. Suddenly inspired, Miss Martha seized the opportunity.</p>
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<p>On the bottom shelf behind the counter was a pound of fresh butter that the dairyman had left ten minutes before. With a bread knife Miss Martha made a deep slash in each of the stale loaves, inserted a generous quantity of butter, and pressed the loaves tight again.</p>
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<p>When the customer turned once more she was tying the paper around them.</p>
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<p>When he had gone, after an unusually pleasant little chat, Miss Martha smiled to herself, but not without a slight fluttering of the heart.</p>
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