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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"Cressy"

That's why it's called the po'try of motion,' sez I. 'And
you ken bet your boots, boys, it's all in the trainin' o' education.'"
"Mr. Ford," said Mr. McKinstry gravely, slightly waving a
lavender-colored kid glove, with which he had elected to conceal his
maimed hand, and at the same moment indicate a festal occasion: "I hev
to thank ye for the way you took out that child o' mine, like ez she woz
an ontried filly, and put her through her paces. I don't dance myself,
partikly in that gait--which I take to be suthin' betwixt a lope and a
canter and I don't get to see much dancin' nowadays on account o' bein'
worrited by stock, but seein' you two together just now, suthin' came
over me, and I don't think I ever felt so kam in my life."
The blood rushed to the master's cheek with an unexpected consciousness
of guilt and shame. "But," he stammered awkwardly, "your daughter dances
beautifully herself; she has certainly had practice."
"That," said McKinstry, laying his gloved hand impressively on the
master's shoulder, with the empty little finger still more emphasized by
being turned backward in the net; "that may be ez it ez, but I wanted
to say that it was the simple, easy, fammily touch that you gev it, that
took me.


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