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Dixon, Thomas, 1864-1946

"The Southerner A Romance of the Real Lincoln"

But his favorite name for the new Chief
Magistrate is, 'The Illinois Slave Hound.' I've a growing feeling that
his enemies have overdone their work. I'm going to judge him fairly."
Vaughan's lips slightly curved.
"They say he's a good stump speaker--a little shy on grammar, perhaps,
but good on jokes--of the coarser kind. He ought to get one or two good
guffaws even out of this sober crowd to-day."
"You think he'll stoop to coarse jokes?"
"Of course----"
"Is that your brother?" Betty asked with a quick intake of breath,
lifting her head toward a stalwart figure rapidly coming down the wide
marble steps.
Ned Vaughan looked up with a frown:
"How did you recognize him?"
"By his resemblance to you, of course."
"Thanks."
"You're as much alike as two black-eyed peas--except that you're more
slender and boyish."
"And not quite so good-looking?"
A low mischievous laugh was her answer as John lifted his hat and stood
smiling before them.
"Miss Winter, this is my brother, whose praises I've long been chanting.
I've a little work to do in the crowd--I'll be back in a few minutes."
There was just a touch of irony in the smile with which the younger man
spoke as he hurried away, but the girl was too much absorbed in the
striking picture John Vaughan made to notice. The sparkling brown eyes
took him in from head to foot in a quick comprehending flash.


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