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Little Eve Edgarton

Creator: Abbott, Eleanor Hallowell, 1872-1958
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"Miss Edgarton," he said, "believe me, there's not one thing to-day under God's heaven that does interest me--except the weather!" "The weather?" mused little Eve Edgarton thoughtfully. Casually, as she spoke, she glanced down across the horses' lathered sides and up into Barton's crimson face. "The weather? Oh!" she hastened anxiously to affirm. "Oh, yes! The meteorological conditions certainly are interesting this summer. Do you yourself think that it's a shifting of the Gulf Stream? Or just a--just a change in the paths of the cyclonic areas of low pressure?" she persisted drearily. "Eh?" gasped Barton. "The weather? Heat was what I meant, Miss Edgarton! Just plain heat!--DAMNED HEAT--was what I meant--if I may be so explicit, Miss Edgarton." "It is hot," conceded Eve apologetically. "In fact," snapped Barton, "I think it's the hottest day I ever knew!" "Really?" droned Eve Edgarton. "Really!" snapped Barton. It must have been almost half an hour before anybody spoke again. Then, "Pretty hot, isn't it?" Barton began all over again.
The Emperor

THE EMPEROR, Part 1. By Georg Ebers Volume 2. CHAPTER V. Pontius had gone to the steward's room, with a frowning brow, but it was with a smile on his strongly-marked lips, and a brisk step that he returned to his work-people. The foreman came to meet him with looks of enquiry as he said. "The steward was a little offended and with reason; but now we are capital friends and he will do what he can in the matter of lighting." In the hall of the Muses he paused outside the screen, behind which Pollux was working, and called out: "Friend sculptor, listen to me, it is high time to have supper."
"Yes," said Eve Edgarton. "In fact," hissed Barton through clenched teeth, "in fact I know it's the hottest day I ever knew!" "Really?" droned Eve Edgarton. "Really!" choked Barton. Creakily under their hot, chafing saddles the sweltering roans lurched off suddenly through a great snarl of bushes into a fern-shaded spring-hole and stood ankle-deep in the boggy grass, guzzling noisily at food and drink, with the chunky gray crowding greedily against first one rider and then the other. Quite against all intention Barton groaned aloud. His sun-scorched eyes seemed fairly shriveling with the glare. His wilted linen collar slopped like a stale poultice around his tortured neck. In his sticky fingers the bridle-rein itched like so much poisoned ribbon. Reaching up one small hand to drag the soft flannel collar of her shirt a little farther down from her slim throat, Eve Edgarton rested her chin on her knuckles for an instant and surveyed him plaintively. "Aren't--we--having--an--awful time?" she whispered.