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A First Family of Tasajara
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A First Family of Tasajara

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A First Family of Tasajara

His speech and manner appeared to be so much in keeping with the prevailing grim philosophy that Billings, after a glance at the others, went on. “Ef you left afore the first rains,” said he, “you must have left only the steamer ahead of Fletcher, when he run off with Clementina Harcourt, and you might have come across them on their wedding trip in New York.”

Not a muscle of Grant’s face changed under their eager and cruel scrutiny. “No, I didn’t,” he returned quietly. “But why did she run away? Did the father object to Fletcher? If I remember rightly he was rich and a good match.”

“Yes, but I reckon the old man hadn’t quite got over the ‘Clarion’ abuse, for all its eating humble-pie and taking back its yarns of him. And may be he might have thought the engagement rather sudden. They say that she’d only met Fletcher the day afore the engagement.”

“That be d–d,” said Peters, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, and startling the lazy resignation of his neighbors by taking his feet from the stove and sitting upright. “I tell ye, gentlemen, I’m sick o’ this sort o’ hog-wash that’s been ladled round to us. That gal Clementina Harcourt and that feller Fletcher had met not only once, but MANY times afore—yes! they were old friends if it comes to that, a matter of six years ago.”

Grant’s eyes were fixed eagerly on the speaker, although the others scarcely turned their heads.

“You know, gentlemen,” said Peters, “I never took stock in this yer story of the drownin’ of ‘Lige Curtis. Why? Well, if you wanter know—in my opinion—there never was any ‘Lige Curtis!”

Billings lifted his head with difficulty; Wingate turned his face to the speaker.

“There never was a scrap o’ paper ever found in his cabin with the name o’ ‘Lige Curtis on it; there never was any inquiry made for ‘Lige Curtis; there never was any sorrowin’ friends comin’ after ‘Lige Curtis. For why?—There never was any ‘Lige Curtis. The man who passed himself off in Sidon under that name—was that man Fletcher. That’s how he knew all about Harcourt’s title; that’s how he got his best holt on Harcourt. And he did it all to get Clementina Harcourt, whom the old man had refused to him in Sidon.”

A grunt of incredulity passed around the circle. Such is the fate of historical innovation! Only Grant listened attentively.

“Ye ought to tell that yarn to John Milton,” said Wingate ironically; “it’s about in the style o’ them stories he slings in the ‘Clarion.’”

“He’s made a good thing outer that job. Wonder what he gets for them?” said Peters.

It was Billings’s time to rise, and, under the influence of some strong cynical emotion, to even rise to his feet. “Gets for ‘em!—GETS for ‘em! I’ll tell you WHAT he gets for ‘em! It beats this story o’ Peters’s,—it beats the flood. It beats me! Ye know that boy, gentlemen; ye know how he uster lie round his father’s store, reading flapdoodle stories and sich! Ye remember how I uster try to give him good examples and knock some sense into him? Ye remember how, after his father’s good luck, he spiled all his own chances, and ran off with his father’s waiter gal—all on account o’ them flapdoodle books he read? Ye remember how he sashayed round newspaper offices in ‘Frisco until he could write a flapdoodle story himself? Ye wanter know what he gets for ‘em. I’ll tell you. He got an interduction to one of them high-toned, highfalutin’, ‘don’t-touch-me’ rich widders from Philadelfy,—that’s what he gets for ‘em! He got her dead set on him and his stories, that’s what he gets for ‘em! He got her to put him up with Fletcher in the ‘Clarion,’—that’s what he gets for ‘em. And darn my skin!—ef what they say is true, while we hard-working men are sittin’ here like drowned rats—that air John Milton, ez never did a stitch o’ live work like me yere; ez never did anythin’ but spin yarns about US ez did WORK, is now ‘gittin’ for ‘em’—what? Guess! Why, he’s gittin’ THE RICH WIDDER HERSELF and HALF A MILLION DOLLARS WITH HER! Gentlemen! lib’ty is a good thing—but thar’s some things ye gets too much lib’ty of in this country—and that’s this yer LIB’TY OF THE PRESS!”

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A mining term for the temporary inundation of a claim by flood; also used for the sterilizing effect of flood on fertile soil.

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