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"I've got news!" cried Pepper, a few days before the game was to come off. "Some of the Pornell students are coming to the game, and I understand they are going to try to make trouble for our team." "Is it the Roy Bock crowd?" questioned Jack. "Yes." "Then it is up to you to keep an eye on them, Pepper. We can't do it while we are playing." "I'll keep an eye on 'em, don't fear," was the answer.
Martin at the time was leaning against his father's door. 'The devil! said Niederberg: 'why do you stay at your father's, when there is better wine and company at the Blauen Bock? Martin, however, replied that he was a hard-working man, who could only spare time to see his old father and sick sister on a festival.
Here is the story: "It was on the fifteenth of October, 1854 I shall remember that date as long as I live. "I left Rouen on horseback, followed by my dog Bock, a big Dalmatian hound from Poitou, full-chested and with a heavy jaw, which could retrieve among the bushes like a Pont-Andemer spaniel. "I was carrying my satchel slung across my back and my gun diagonally across my chest.
The Bock Pipit is included in Professor Ansted's list, but marked as only occurring in Guernsey. All the Rock Pipits I have seen in the Channel Islands have been the common form, Anthus obscurus; I have never seen one of the rufous-breasted examples which occur in Scandinavia and the Baltic, and have by some been separated as a distinct species under the name of Anthus rupestris.
Gilbert didn't hear you say it or he'd certainly have suspected you!" "The joke is on me," said Roger. "Well, I'VE got a toast to propose," said Titania. "Here's to the memory of Bock, the dearest, bravest dog I ever met!" They drank it with due gravity. "Well, good people," said Mr. Chapman, "there's nothing we can do for Bock now. But we can do something for the rest of us.
Come, old fellow, let's go back to the Gambrinus and have another bock before we part. I've got a franc one of yours so I'll stand it!" And we walked on to the big Piazza, with its music and its garish cafés, the customers of which overflowed into the square, where they sat in great groups.
So while Mifflin busied himself with Peg's foot it was easy for me to get a meal under way. I found a gush of clean water trickling down the face of the rock. There were still some eggs and bread and cheese in the little cupboard, and an unopened tin of condensed milk. I gave Peg her nose bag of oats, and fed Bock, who was frisking about in high spirits.
"I have forgotten some important business at Bock." "Not boar hunting again?" she said poutingly. "No, I'm hunting a red dear," I said with that playful subtlety which would make her take it as a personal compliment, though I was only thinking of that impostor, and longing to get at him, as I bowed and withdrew. In another hour I was before Black Michael's castle at Bock.
But what becomes of the ink-pots of glory? The conduit from which Boswell drew, for Charles Dilly in The Poultry, the great river of his Johnson? One of the happiest tremors of my life was when I went to that café and called for a bock and writing material, just because R.L.S. had once written letters there. That hopeful letter, so perfect now in pathos
I have not seen him since. Waiter, a 'bock." A waiter brought him his "bock," which he swallowed at a gulp. But, in taking up his pipe again, trembling as he was, he broke it. "Confound it!" he said, with a gesture of annoyance. "That is a real sorrow. It will take me a month to color another!"
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