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"Looky here, will you, Max ain't that a beaut, though?" The excited Steve managed to pluck some small object out of the opened shell he held, though his fingers trembled like the quivering leaves of an aspen. When he placed this in the palm of his hand it was seen to be a lovely little milk-white pearl, nearly half the size of a buckshot. "That looks good to me," remarked Max.
I was there, but I did not go into the back room, where she was." "What time did he get home that night?" "I think it was after midnight. He came in with a valise, and I saw him open it and say, 'You are a beaut, you are. He thought I was asleep." "How about Thursday night?" "I saw him that night, and I was afraid to stay home and I went to Heider's Hotel." "When did he take the girl to Ft.
I hired a hammerless breech-loader for seven a week, borrowed a lot of fishing-tackle, and bought a hunting-knife with a nickel-plated handle. It was a beaut, and stood me three fifty. A fellow can never be too careful. Up there you are likely any minute to come face to face with an Apache or some old left-over Aztec rubbering around among the trees.
"Yes, but Andy got back at him good and proper, and put him out of the game," remarked Ted. "It was a beaut!" "Did you and Mortimer have a run-in?" asked Dunk quickly. "Oh, no more than is usual in practice," replied Andy, lightly. "He shook me up and I came back at him." "If that's football, give me a good old-fashioned fight!" laughed Dunk. "Well, if we're going to have some fun, come on."
They stopped and the tall woman began stepping over the fallen logs, coming to them. The two young girls followed, laughing. They sat down on the log beside the boys, the tall pale woman at the end beside red-haired McGregor. An embarrassed silence fell over the party. Both Beaut and the fat boy were disconcerted by this turn to their afternoon's outing and wondered how it would turn out.
The next morning when Beaut McGregor pushed his baker's cart along the street and began climbing the hill toward the miners' cottages, he went, not as Norman McGregor, the town baker boy, only product of the loins of Cracked McGregor of Coal Creek, but as a personage, a being, the object of an art. The name given him by Uncle Charlie Wheeler had made him a marked man.
They drove travelling men from the trains to farming towns in valleys back among the hills and in the evening with Beaut McGregor they sat on a bench before the barn and shouted at people going past the stable up the hill. The livery stable in Coal Creek was owned by a hunchback named Weller who lived in the city and went home at night.
"Sit down," she said, "I'll tell you something something it's good for you to hear. You're so big and red you tempt a girl to bother you. First though you tell me why you go along the street looking into the gutter when I stand in the stairway in the evening." Beaut sat down again upon the log, and thought of what the black- haired boy had told him of her.
I wouldn't mind that so much if we were in the Glades, but I don't want to be set afoot so far from fresh water. See that big whip-ray! It's a beaut; paddle up to it, Dick." Dick paddled toward the fish, which was shaped like a butterfly, with a back six feet broad, covered with beautiful little white rings placed on a jet black background.
At that moment Baumberger drew the tired fish gently into the shallows, swung him deftly upon the rocks, and laid hold of him greedily. "Ain't he a beaut?" he cried, in his wheezy chuckle. "Wait a minute while I weigh him. He'll go over a pound, I'll bet money on it."
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