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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"The Heritage of Dedlow Marsh and Other Tales"


Herbert was a little puzzled. It was the awkward and brusque act
of a very young person, and yet nothing now could be more gentle
and self-composed than her figure and attitude.
"Yes," he continued, smilingly; "I am only afraid that I may not be
able to live quite up to the neatness and regularity of the example
I find here everywhere. You know I am dreadfully careless and not
at all orderly. I shudder to think what may happen; but you and
your mother, Miss Brooks, I trust, will make up your minds to
overlook and forgive a good deal. I shall do my best to be worthy
of Mr. Tap--of my predecessor--but even then I am afraid you'll
find me a great bother."
She raised her shy eyelids. The faintest ghost of a long-buried
dimple came into her pale cheek as she said softly, to his utter
consternation:
"Rats!"
Had she uttered an oath he could not have been more startled than
he was by this choice gem of Western saloon-slang from the pure
lips of this Evangeline-like figure before him. He sat gazing at
her with a wild hysteric desire to laugh. She lifted her eyes
again, swept him with a slightly terrified glance, and said:
"Tap says you all say that when any one makes-believe politeness to
you."
"Oh, your BROTHER says that, does he?" said Herbert, laughing.
"Yes, and sometimes 'Old rats.' But," she continued hurriedly, "HE
doesn't say it; he says YOU all do.


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