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Chapter XIII. A Day in September - Page 2
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"Poor things," said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt. "How could either of you help it?"
"Why is it that all the nice men are married?" inquired Nora.
"I beg your pardon, Miss Nora," said Jack in a pained voice.
"I mean--why--I'm afraid I can't fix that up, can I?" she said, appealing to Mrs. Waring-Gaunt.
"Certainly you can. What you really mean is, why do all married men become so nice?" said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt.
"Oh, thank you, the answer is so obvious. Do you know, I feel wild to-day."
"And so do I," replied Kathleen, suddenly waking to life. "It is the wonderful air, or the motor, perhaps."
"Me, too," exclaimed Jack Romayne, looking straight at her, "only with me it is not the air, nor the motor."
"What then!" said Kathleen with a swift, shy look at him.
"'The heart knoweth its own bitterness and a stranger intermeddleth not with its joy.'"
"That's the Bible, I know," said Kathleen, "and it really means 'mind your own business.'"
"No, no, not that exactly," protested Jack, "rather that there are things in the heart too deep if not for tears most certainly for words. You can guess what I mean, Miss Kathleen," said Jack, trying to get her eyes.
"Oh, yes," said the girl, "there are things that we cannot trust to words, no, not for all the world."
"I know what you are thinking of," replied Jack. "Let me guess."
"No, no, you must not, indeed," she replied quickly. "Look, isn't that the mine? What a crowd of people! Do look."
Out in the valley before them they could see a procession of teams and men weaving rhythmic figures about what was discovered to be upon a nearer view a roadway which was being constructed to cross a little coolee so as to give access to the black hole on the hillside beyond which was the coal mine. In the noise and bustle of the work the motor came to a stop unobserved behind a long wooden structure which Nora diagnosed as the "grub shack."
"In your English speech, Mr. Romayne, the dining room of the camp. He is certainly a hustler," exclaimed Nora, gazing upon the scene before them.
"Who?" inquired Mrs. Waring-Gaunt.
"Ernest Switzer," said Nora, unable to keep the grudge out of her voice. "It is only a week since I was up here and during that time he has actually made this village, the streets, the sidewalks--and if that is not actually a system of water pipes."
"Some hustler, as you say, Miss Nora, eh, what?" said Tom.
"Wonderful," replied Nora; "he is
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