George Allan England

“ Then the door swung, and Veazie found himself face to face with the black-haired girl.
A dim light in the hall, behind her, revealed her as perhaps nineteen or twenty years old, a gracile and slender figure with a shapely throat, and with eyes steady and dark. By contrast with the crop-haired style of the day, her heavily coiled masses of black hair gave her almost the distinction of some archaic portrait. An air, a fashion as of other and more courtly days enhaloed her. ”

“ Veazie knit his sandy brows, as he stood there in the dimly lit parlor. His brooding air held a sinister grimness of determination.
“So that's Harriet's daughter!” he pondered. “Well”—he smiled a bit thinly—“she's all wheat in the bin, too. She'll help a lot. A pretty girl—ah, that's a best bet it's always safe to gamble on!” ”

“ There's plenty of good stories without crossing Professor Veazie's slimy trail. You do him out of his graft, and he'll be so darned mad that he'll knife you, one way or another, sure as guns. Better butt into a tiger's den and grab the cubs, as Dona Who's-This says in ' Hernani,' than mix up with the prof! ”