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Fox, John, 1863-1919

"The Trail of the Lonesome Pine"

Early breakfast was ready when he got back to the hotel.
He swallowed a cup of coffee so hastily that it burned him, and
June, when she passed his window on her way to school, saw him
busy over his desk. She started to shout to him, but he looked so
haggard and grim that she was afraid, and went on, vaguely hurt by
a preoccupation that seemed quite to have excluded her. For two
hours then, Hale haggled and bargained, and at ten o'clock he went
to the telegraph office. The operator who was speculating in a
small way himself smiled when he read the telegram.
"A thousand an acre?" he repeated with a whistle. "You could have
got that at twenty-five per--three months ago."
"I know," said Hale, "there's time enough yet." Then he went to
his room, pulled the blinds down and went to sleep, while rumour
played with his name through the town.
It was nearly the closing hour of school when, dressed and freshly
shaven, he stepped out into the pale afternoon and walked up
toward the schoolhouse. The children were pouring out of the
doors. At the gate there was a sudden commotion, he saw a crimson
figure flash into the group that had stopped there, and flash out,
and then June came swiftly toward him followed closely by a tall
boy with a cap on his head.


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