Copper Streak Trail eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 201 pages of information about Copper Streak Trail.

Copper Streak Trail eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 201 pages of information about Copper Streak Trail.

“We’ve been away,” said Van Lear.

It was remarked that the inexplicable Mitchell House policy remained in force in the years since McClintock’s return; witness the present incumbent, frivolous Thompson, foreigner from Buffalo—­him and his house parties!  It was Mitchell House still, mauger the McClintock millions and a half-century of possession.  Whether this clinging to the old name was tribute to the free-handed Mitchells or evidence of fine old English firmness is a matter not yet determined.

The free-handed Mitchells themselves, as a family, were no more.  They had scattered, married or died, lost their money, gone to work, or otherwise disappeared.  Vesper kept knowledge of but two of them:  Lawyer Oscar, solid, steady, highly respectable, already in the way of becoming Squire Mitchell, and like to better the Mitchell tradition of prosperity—­a warm man, a getting-on man, not to mention that he was the older nephew and probable heir to the McClintock millions; and Oscar’s cousin, Stanley, youngest nephew of the millions, who, three years ago, had defied McClintock to his face.  Stan Mitchell had always been wild, even as a boy, they said; they remembered now.

It seemed that McClintock had commanded young Stan to break his engagement to that Selden girl—­the schoolma’am at Brookfield, my dear—­one of the hill people.  There had been a terrible scene.  Earl Dawson was staying at the Iroquois and his door happened to be open a little.

“Then you’ll get none of my money!” said the old gentleman.

“To hell with your money!” Stan said, and slammed the door.

He was always a dreadful boy, my dear!  So violent and headstrong!  Always picking on my poor Johnny at school; Johnny came home once with the most dreadful bruise over his eye—­Stanley’s work.

So young Stan flung away to the West three years ago.  The Selden girl still teaches the Brookfield District; Stan Mitchell writes to her, the mail carrier says.  No-o; not so bad-looking, exactly—­in that common sort of way!

CHAPTER IX

“Far be it from me to—­to—­”

“Cavil or carp?”

“Exactly.  Thank you.  Beautiful line!  Quite Kipling.  Far from me to cavil or carp, Tum-tee-tum-tee-didy, Or shift the shuttle from web or warp.  And all for my dark-eyed lydy!  Far be it from me, as above.  Nevertheless—­”

“Why, then, the exertion?”

“Duty.  Friendship.  Francis Charles Boland, you’re lazy.”

“Ferdie,” said Francis Charles, “you are right.  I am.”

“Too lazy to defend yourself against the charge of being lazy?”

“Not at all.  The calm repose; that sort of thing—­what?”

Mr. Boland’s face assumed the patient expression of one misjudged.

“Laziness!” repeated Ferdie sternly. “’Tis a vice that I abhor.  Slip me a smoke.”

Francis Charles fumbled in the cypress humidor at Ferdie’s elbow; he leaned over the table and gently closed Ferdie’s finger and thumb upon a cigarette.

Copyrights
Project Gutenberg
Copper Streak Trail from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.