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Wilson, Harry Leon, 1867-1939

"The Boss of Little Arcady"


I was not surprised, therefore, when I found him rather dejectedly sunk
in figures one afternoon about a week after Miss Caroline's
"home-fixin's" had begun to arrive.
These were all about him at the front door, in the hall, and extending
far into the rooms, a truly depressing chaos of packing boxes, swathed
tables, chairs, bureaus, and barrels of china. Nor was this all; for
even as I loitered up to the door the dray of Sam Murdock halted in
front with another huge load.
Clem raised his head from a sheet of sprawled figures and regarded this
fresh trouble with something like consternation. In one hand he
fluttered a packet of receipted freight bills, and he spoke as one in an
evil dream.
"Yes, seh, Mahstah Majah, it suttinly do seem lahk them railroad
genamen would git monst'ous rich a-runnin' them freight trains about th'
kentry th' way lahk they do. Ah allus think them ole freight cyahs look
maghty cheap an' common a-rattlin' around, but Ah teks mah ole hat off
to um yehafteh. Yes, seh, Ah lays Ah will! Them engineahs an' fiahmen
an' them Cunnels with gole on they hats, Ah gaiss they go'n' a' have all
th' money in th' world maghty shawtly. They looks highly awdinahy an'
unpetentious, but they suttinly p'duces th' revenue.


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