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Day, Holman (Holman Francis), 1865-1935

"The Ramrodders A Novel"

While his fingers still throbbed with the last
pressure of her hand, the black mouth of the big bridge swallowed her.
He listened to the ringing hoof-beats of her horse till sudden silence
told him she had reached the soft soil on the other shore.
He did not gallop to meet his grandfather. He walked his horse for the
long mile past the scattered houses of the village till he came to "The
Barracks."
When he was still some distance away he saw in the gloom of the porch
the red coal of the Duke's cigar. Even then he did not rush forward to
protest and denounce.
He slipped off his horse, and led him toward the porch. But before he
could speak his grandfather hailed him.
"Run in to your supper, bub. The boys are holding it hot for you. Luke
and I were too hungry to wait."
"I can't eat now--not with what's on _my_ mind."
"Oh, bub--bub! Run along with you! There's plenty of time for talk. I'll
be here when you come out. Get something to eat, now! That's a good
boy!"
Somehow he couldn't begin the attack just then.


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