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Oppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips), 1866-1946

"A Millionaire of Yesterday"


I did not know that you were so pleasantly engaged," he added, with
a wave of his hat to the girl, "or I would not have intruded."
Trent kicked open the little iron gate which led into the garden
beyond.
"Well, get out, and don't come here again," he said shortly.
"There's plenty of room for you to wander about and poison the air
with those abominable cigars of yours without coming here."
Da Souza replaced his hat upon his head. "The cigars, my friend,
are excellent. We cannot all smoke the tobacco of a millionaire,
can we, miss?"
The girl, who was making some notes in her book, continued her work
without the slightest appearance of having heard him.
Da Souza snorted, but at that moment he felt a grip like iron upon
his shoulder, and deemed retreat expedient.
"If you don't go without another word," came a hot whisper in his
ear, "I'll throw you into the horse-pond."
He went swiftly, ungracious, scowling. Trent returned to the girl.
She looked up at him and closed her book.
"You must change your friends," she said gravely. "What a horrible
man!"
"He is a beast," Trent answered, "and go he shall. I would to
Heaven that I had never seen him."
She rose, slipped her note-book into her pocket, and drew on her
gloves.


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