And then he came to Conniston with long strides.
"Hell," he grunted, disgustedly. "I thought you said you'd killed a
man! That's only a Chink!"
CHAPTER XIX
The few barefooted, tattered urchins of Valley City had scampered
homeward through the quiet street, swept along upon the high tide of
glee. Bat Truxton had got drunk again; Mr. Crawford had fired him;
Miss Jocelyn had gone away with him to Crawfordsville; there was every
reason for their glad optimism to see a long vacation before them.
What was the importance of reclamation somewhere off in the misty
future when vacation, unexpected and thence all the more delectable,
smiled upon them now?
"Mr. Crawford has been just as mean to poor papa as he could be," Miss
Jocelyn had confided to them, in tear-dampened scornfulness. "Papa
doesn't want me to teach, anyway. And"--with a sniff and a toss of her
head--"we'll be in town now where we can enjoy ourselves."
It is not a pretty thing to contradict a lady, but certainly if Miss
Jocelyn's papa made the remark which she attributed to him it must
have been at some time prior to his return from the camp to Valley
City; prior, too, to his exit from Valley City to Crawfordsville. For
her papa went out of the Valley reclining wordlessly upon a thick
padding of quilts in the bed of a big wagon, with his few household
effects so arranged about him as to screen him from the sun and the
curious gaze of a chance passer-by, and in no condition to express
himself upon any matter whatever.
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