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Bacheller, Irving, 1859-1950

"Eben Holden, a tale of the north country"


'Consarn it!' said Uncle Eb, as we left the washroom, 'le's have a
durn good supper. I'll stan' treat.'
'Comes a leetle bit high,' he said, as he paid the bill, 'but I don' care
if it does. 'Fore we left I says t' myself, "Uncle Eb," says I, "you go
right in fer a good time an' don' ye count the pennies. Everybody's
a right t' be reckless once in seventy-five year."'
We went to our stateroom a little after nine. I remember the berths
had not been made up, and removing our boots and coats we lay
down upon the bare mattresses. Even then I had a lurking fear that
we might be violating some rule of steamboat etiquette. When I
went to New York before I had dozed all night in the big cabin.
A dim light came through the shuttered door that opened upon the
dinning-saloon where the rattle of dishes for a time put away the
possibility of sleep.
'I'll be awful glad t' see Hope,' said Uncle Eb, as he lay gaping.
'Guess I'll be happier to see her than she will to see me,' I said.
'What put that in yer head?' Uncle Eb enquired.


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