Michael Malone - Weebly

no room for them here. Yes, Uncle William was right.
All the order was gone now.
Irene tapped at the door. "I'm going to lunch now.
Mr. Marco will be there at one. I ordered the flowers. I
spoke with Mr. Strummer. He asked me to tell you he's
very grateful for all you've done. But he says he'll be
able to manage, thank you anyway."
At the Tea Shoppe, where Chin Lam Henry served
them clam chowder, Irene told her friend Sally Rideout
that Mr. Ransom had offered to pay all the Strummer
funeral costs just because the tragedy had happened to
occur in his house. How many men would think of being
so considerate? She wanted to know why there weren't
more people like Ernest Ransom in the world.
It was time for him to drive to the Club. Ransom
looked at the thin gold watch his grandfather had given
him. The office was quiet.
He could hear the tick of time passed along through
generations increasingly penurious of its expense.
"There're only so many hours in a day," his father had
warned him. "Stop wasting time," he now warned his
children. Maybe it was silly to keep a pocket watch