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The Grafters by Francis Lynde
page 28 of 360 (07%)
"If I were you, David, I'd write and ask; I should, by Jove. It would be a
tremendously cheeky thing to do, of course, having such a slight
acquaintance with her as you have; but I'll be hanged if I shouldn't
chance it. And in the mean time, if I don't go back East next week, you'll
hear from me. When you do, or if you do, take a day off and run up to the
capital. I shall need you. Good-by."

Kent watched the train pull out; stood looking after it until the two red
eyes of the rear signals had disappeared in the dusty darkness of the
illimitable plain. Then he went to his rooms, to the one which was called
by courtesy his office, and without allowing himself time for a nice
balancing of the pros and cons, squared himself at the desk to write a
letter.




III


THE BOSTONIANS

It was precisely on the day set for the Brentwoods' westward flitting that
the postman, making his morning round, delivered David Kent's asking at
the house in the Back Bay sub-district. Elinor was busy packing for the
migration, but she left Penelope and the maid to cope with the problem of
compressing two trunkfuls into one while she read the letter, and she was
reading it a second time when Mr. Brookes Ormsby's card came up.

"You go, Penelope," she begged. "There is so much to do."
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