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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"Cressy"

But he was anxious to
know the cause of this recent attack and its probable relations to the
fascinating Mrs. Tripp.
"I thought we talked all that over some time ago, Rupe. In a few months
you'll be able to leave school, and I'll advise your father about
putting you into something to give you a chance for yourself. Patience,
old fellow; you're doing very well. Consider--there's your pupil, Uncle
Ben."
"Oh, yes! That's another big baby to tot round in school when I ain't
niggerin' at home."
"And I don't see exactly what else you could do at Indian Spring,"
continued Mr. Ford.
"No," said Rupert gloomily, "but I could get away to Sacramento. Yuba
Bill says they take boys no bigger nor me in thar express offices or
banks--and in a year or two they're as good ez anybody and get paid
as big. Why, there was a fellow here, just now, no older than you, Mr.
Ford, and not half your learnin', and he dressed to death with jewelry,
and everybody bowin' and scrapin' to him, that it was perfectly
sickenin'."
Mr. Ford lifted his eyebrows.


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