Falling for the MD (Mills & Boon Cherish) (The Wilder Family, Book 1)
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I got him out finally, and then he was quiet enough, and I took him up alongside the fence and got on him. He stopped an instant, one brief instant, and then tore off down the road at a frightful speed.
I lay down on him and clasped my hands tightly around his neck, and thought of my home. When we got to the stable I was confident he would stop, but he didn't. He drove straight at the door. It was a low door, just high enough to permit him to go in at lightning speed, but there was no room for me. I saw if I struck that stable the struggle would be a very brief one. I thought this all over in an instant, and then, spreading put my arms and legs, emitted a scream, and the next moment I was bounding about in the filth of that stable-yard.
All this passed through my mind as Stiver's horse went up into the air. It frightened Mrs. Perkins dreadfully.
But I could think of only two ways to dispose of the beast. I could either swallow him where he stood and then sit down on him, or I could crawl inside of him and kick him to death. But I was saved either of these expedients by his coming towards me so abruptly that I dropped the rope in terror, and then he turned about, and, kicking me full of mud, shot for the gate, ripping the clothes-line in two, and went on down the street at a horrible gallop, with two of Mrs. Perkins' garments, which he hastily snatched from the line, floating over his neck in a very picturesque manner.
Stiver got his horse all right, and stays at home to care for him. Perkins has gone to her mother's to recuperate, and I am healing as fast as possible. I had not seen Perkins for six months or so and things were dull. I was beginning to tire of sitting indolently in my office with nothing to do but clip coupons from my bonds.
Money is good enough, in its way, but it is not interesting unless it is doing something lively—doubling itself or getting lost. A scheme is a business adventure, and Perkins was the greatest schemer in or out of Chicago. I'm restless. I have been wishing for you for a month. I want to go into a big scheme and make a lot of new, up-to-date cash.
I'm sick of this tame, old cash that I have.
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It isn't interesting. No cash is interesting except the coming cash. I have sat here for days trying to think of a good practical scheme, but I can't. I don't believe there is an unworked scheme in the whole wide, wide world. You've thousands of 'em right here in your office!
You're falling [Pg ] over them, sitting on them, walking on them! Everything is a scheme. Everything has money in it! Why Perkins the originator? Why the Great and Only Perkins of Portland? I'll give you a week to work up a good scheme. I looked in my pigeonholes and pulled from one a small ball of string.
Theories of Forgetting by Lance Olsen
Perkins took it in his hand and looked at it with great admiration. I bought it last Saturday. It was sold to me by a freckled young lady in a white shirtwaist. I paid—".
A Merger... or Marriage?
I looked at the ball of twine curiously. I tried to see something remarkable in it. I couldn't.
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It remained a simple ball of red twine and I told Perkins so. Mediocrity always sees red twine; genius sees a ball of Crimson Cord! He leaned back in his chair and looked at me triumphantly.
See a Problem?
He folded his arms as if he had settled the matter. His attitude seemed to say that he had made a fortune for us. Suddenly he reached forward, and [Pg ] grasping my scissors, began snipping off small lengths of the twine. I told him that it suggested a parcel from the druggist's. I had often seen just such twine about a druggist's parcel. He motioned wildly with his hands as if the possibilities of the phrase were quite beyond his power of expression.
The novel! Think of the words 'A Crimson Cord' in blood-red letters six feet high on a white ground! With each copy we will give a crimson silk cord for a book-mark. Each copy will be done up in a white box and tied with crimson cord. No, pictures by Pyle. Deep, mysterious pictures!
Shadows and gloom! And wide, wide margins. And a gloomy foreword. One fifty per copy, at all booksellers. Perkins opened his eyes and set his hat straight with a quick motion of his hand. He arose and pulled on his gloves. We must boom 'The Crimson Cord. He went out and closed the door. Presently, when I supposed him well on the way down town, he opened the door and inserted his head.