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قراءة كتاب Hepsey Burke
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"
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ILLUSTRATIONS.
| PAGE | |
| “You haven’t seen anything that looked like a parson, have you? You can generally spot ’em every time” | Frontispiece |
| “I’m blessed if you ’aint sewin’ white buttons on with black thread. Is anybody dead in the family, or ’aint you feelin’ well this mornin’?” | 62 |
| “Nicholas Burke, what in the name of conscience does all this idiotic performance mean, I’d like to know?” | 80 |
| “Oh well, I always believe that two young married people should start out by themselves, and then if they get into a family row it won’t scandalize the parish” | 126 |
| “I ’aint a chicken no more, Mrs. Betty, and I’ve ’most forgot how to do a bit of courtin’” | 140 |
| “I consider it a shame and a disgrace to the parish to have our rector in filthy clothes, drawing stone with a lot of ruffians” | 248 |
| “I’ve got a hunch, Sylvester Bascom, that it’ll be you that’ll have the last word, after all” | 280 |
| “Hepsey Burke, for all your molasses and the little bit of vinegar you say you keep by you, ‘There are no flies on you’ as Nickey would put it” | 308 |
The noisy, loose-jointed train pulled out of the station, leaving behind it a solitary young man, enveloped in smoke and cinders. In the middle of the platform stood a little building with a curb roof, pointed at both ends like a Noah’s Ark; and the visitor felt that if he could only manage to lift up one side of the roof he would find the animals “two by two,” together with the cylindrical Noah and the rest of his family. There was no one in sight but the station-master, who called out from the ticket office: 12
“Did you want to go to the village? The ’bus won’t be down till the next train: but maybe you can ride up on the ice wagon.”
“Thanks,” the stranger replied. “I think I’ll wait for the ’bus, if it’s not too long.”
“Twenty minutes or so, if Sam don’t have to collect the passengers goin’ West, and wait for a lot o’ women that forget their handbags and have to get out and go back after ’em.”
The new arrival was good to look at—a handsome, well-built fellow of about twenty-five, dressed in a gray suit which was non-committal as to his profession, with a clean-shaven face which bore the unmistakable stamp of good breeding and unlimited good-nature. He tilted his suit-case on end and sat down on it; then he filled his briar pipe, crossed his legs, and looked about to take stock of the situation. He gazed about curiously; but there was nothing of any special interest in sight, except, painfully conspicuous on the face of a grass terrace, the name of the village picked out in large letters composed of oyster-shells and the bottoms of protruding beer bottles stuck in the ground. The stranger found himself wondering where a sufficient number of bottles could be found to complete such an elaborate pattern.