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Bower, B. M., 1871-1940

"Good Indian"

He loaded the boxes of freight with the abused air of one
who feels that Fate has used him hardly, and then sidled up to
the station door with the furtive air which Miss Georgie always
inwardly resented.
She took the shipping bill from him with her fingertips, reckoned
the charges, and received the money without a word, pushing a few
pieces of silver toward him upon the table. As he bent to pick
them up clawing unpleasantly with vile finger-nails--she glanced
at him contemptuously, looked again more attentively, pursed her
lips with one corner between her teeth, and when he had clawed
the last dime off the smooth surface of the table, she spoke to
him as if he were not the reptile she considered him, but a live
human.
"Horribly hot, isn't it? I wish _I_ could sleep till noon. It
would make the days shorter, anyway."
"I opened up the store, and then I went back to bed," Saunders
replied limply. "Just got up when the freight pulled in. Made
so blamed much noise it woke me.


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