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McCutcheon, George Barr, 1866-1928

"Quill's Window"

The older
I get and the more I see of women, the more I am convinced that
vice is its own reward. I guess we'd better stroll down to the
river and see what's doing."
"I've been thinking," said Charlie as they walked along, "that if
Thane wasn't in the British Army and wasn't in our army, then he
must be a slacker and wanted by the government for--"
"Nothing doing on that line. You forget he was crippled long before
the war. He couldn't get by a medical board. They'd turn him down
in a second. If he was in this country at the time of the draft,
he would have had no trouble getting an exemption. What I can't
understand is why he, a New Yorker, should be hiding out here in the
jungles of Indiana. There's something queer about that, my friend."
"Kind of fishy," said Charlie darkly. Then upon reflection, he
added with considerable vehemence: "Damn him!"
Already half a dozen rowboats were out in the stream, with men
peering over the sides into the deep, slow-moving water. Burk's
Ferry did a thriving business. It plied back and forth from one
"road-cut" to the other, crowded with foot passengers, all of whom
studied the water intently. Men, women and children tramped close
to the edge of both banks. People spoke in subdued voices; an
atmosphere of the deepest solemnity hung over the scene.
The sky itself was overcast; a raw wind moaned through the trees,
sighing a requiem.


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