The Early Bird: A Business Man's Love StoryChester, George Randolph
General
The Early Bird: A Business Man's Love Story
Chester, George Randolph
Businessmen -- Fiction; Love stories
The Hollis Creek young lady was rather grim as she rode down the
graveled approach beside Miss Westlake, and both the girls cast furtive
glances behind them as they turned away from the Meadow Brook road.
When they were safely out of sight around the next bend, Miss Westlake
laughed.
"Mr. Turner is such a funny person," said she. "He's liable at any
moment to forget all about everything and everybody if somebody
mentions business to him. If he ever takes time to get married he'll
make it a luncheon hour appointment."
Even Miss Josephine laughed.
"And even then," she added, by way of elaboration, "the bride is likely
to be left waiting at the church." There was a certain snap and
crackle to whatever Miss Stevens said just now, however, which
indicated a perturbed and even an angry state of mind.
Ten minutes later, Sam Turner, hatless, and carrying a buggy whip and
wearing a torn coat, trudged up the Hollis Creek Inn drive, afoot, and
walked rapidly into the office.
"Is Miss Stevens about?" he wanted to know.
"Not at present," the clerk informed him. "She ordered out her horse a
few minutes ago, and started over to Sunset Rock with a party of young
people from Meadow Brook."
"Which way is Sunset Rock?"
The clerk handed him a folder which contained a map of the roadways
thereabouts, and pointed out the way.
"Could you get me a saddle-horse right away?"
The clerk pounded a bell and ordered up a saddle-horse for Mr. Turner,
who immediately thereupon turned to the telephone, and, calling up
Meadow Brook, instructed the clerk at that resort to send a carriage
for Mr. Westlake, who was sitting in the trap, entirely unharmed but
disinclined to walk, at the foot of Laurel Hill; then he explained that
the grays had run away down this steep declivity, that the yoke bar had
slipped, the tongue had fallen to the ground, had broken, and had run
back up through the body of the carriage. The horses had jerked the
doubletree loose, and the last he had seen of their marks they had
turned up the Bald Hill road and were probably going yet. By the time
he had repeated and amplified this explanation enough to beat it all
through the head of the man at the other end of the wire, his horse was
ready for him, and very much to the wonderment of the clerk he started
off at a rattling gait, without taking the trouble either to have
himself dusted or to pin up his badly torn pocket.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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