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Wilson, Harry Leon, 1867-1939

"Bunker Bean"

A
light breeze fluttered the gayly striped awnings. Breede, at a desk,
turned his back upon the fair scene and fumed.
"Take letter G.M. Watkins, Pres'den I 'n' N.C. Rai'way," began Breede
as Bean entered the room. "Dear sir repline yours of 23d instan' would
say Ouch! damn that foot don't take that regardin' traffic 'greement
now'n 'fect that 'casion may rise 'n near future to 'mend same in
'cordance with stip'lations inform'ly made at conf'rence held las'
Janwary will not'fy you 'n due time 'f change is made yours very truly
have some lunch brought here 'n a minute may haf' t' stay three four
days t'll this Whoo! damn foot gets well take letter H.J. Hobbs secon'
'sistant vice Pres'den' D. 'n' L.S. Rai'way New York, New York, dear
Hobbs mark it pers'nal repline yours even date stock purchases goin'
forward as rapidly's thought wise under circumstances it is held mos'ly
'n small lots an' too active a market might give rise t' silly notions
about it--"
The day's work was on, familiar enough, with the exception of Breede's
interjections; he spoke words many times that were not to be "taken
down." And yet Bean forebore to record his wonted criticisms of his
employer's dress. There was ground for them. Breede had never looked
less the advanced dresser. But Bean's mind was busy with that older
sister, she of the marvellously drooping eyes. He had recognized her at
once as the ideal person with whom to be wrecked on a desert island.


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