"I'll be out as soon as I've finished breakfast," said Mr. Pollock.
"Well, you can't say I didn't tell ye," said Jim, and withdrew his
head. "No wonder there ain't ever anything worth readin' in that
pickerune paper of his, Maggie," he growled to Margaret Slattery.
"If ever I DO subscribe for a paper, it's goin' to be one that's
got some git up and go about it. Some Injinapolis er Cincinnaty
paper, b'gosh. There's Link Pollock settin' in there eatin' pancakes
while a girl is bein' missed from one end of the township to the
other. Bill Foss has--"
"What girl?" demanded Margaret.
"That girl of Amos Vick's. They ain't seen hide er hair of her
sence yesterday afternoon. Amos is over to the drug store, nearly
crazy with suspicion. I got it all figgered out. One of two things
has happened. She's either run off to get married er else she's
been waylaid and--er--execrated by some tramp. Like as not the
very feller that peeped in at Alix Crown's winder the other night.
'Twouldn't surprise me a particle if she was found some'eres er
other with her head beat in or somethin'! And Link Pollock jest
sits in there stuffin' pan--"
Margaret Slattery having disappeared abruptly into the dining-room,
Jim grunted and edged over to the kitchen range, where Miss Jennie
Dowd was busily engaged.
"I ain't got nothin' personal ag'in Link Pollock, Jennie," he said,
sniffing the browning batter with pleasurable longing, "but if you
was to ask me I'd say his wife is twice the man he is, and a little
over.
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