The Prodigal Judge by Vaughan Kester
page 255 of 508 (50%)
page 255 of 508 (50%)
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"You might send him writin' in a letter," he suggested.
The furious shrieking of a steam-packet's whistle broke in upon them. "It's another of them hawgs, wantin' all the river!" said Mr. Cavendish, and fled in haste to the steering oar. During all the long days that followed, Mr. Yancy was forced to own that these titled friends of his were, despite their social position, uncommon white in their treatment of him. The Earl of Lambeth consorted with him in that fine spirit that recognizes the essential brotherhood of man, while his Lady Countess was, as Yancy observed, on the whole, a person of simple and uncorrupted tastes. She habitually went barefoot, both as a matter of comfort and economy, and she smoked her cob-pipe as did those other ladies of Lincoln County who had married into far less exalted stations than her own. He put these simple survivals down to her native goodness of heart, which would not allow of her succumbing to mere pride and vainglory, for he no more doubted their narrative than they, doubted it themselves, which was not at all. CHAPTER XIX THE JUDGE SEES A GHOST |
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