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But " Now chagrin, wonder, and perplexity were written in Bubbles's face. "Why," he said, "it makes everything different. He never done anything for me; but if he's my father " "You can't very well spy on him, can you, Bubbles? You've got to stand aside and leave all that to others." "I got to see the Head, Miss Barbara. I got to ask him." "Who is the head, Bubbles?"
Lichtenstein, having carefully replaced the fire-backs, rose smiling, and clapped a hand upon Bubbles's shoulder. "Now then, Bubbles," he said, "push that bell-button by the door four times, and we'll see what Mrs. Popple can do to get us out of this. Never met Mrs. Popple? She's one of us, and at heart a good one." The lady in question came swiftly in answer to the four rings.
He nodded, not altogether pleased with the turn the matter had taken. "In that case," she said, "I have no wish to stand in your way. But I don't propose to be a cat's-paw. You may sit in Bubbles's room if you like, but I won't have you on your hands and knees at the studio door listening at the key-hole. That must be understood." The young man flushed with righteous anger.
Suppose at the sound every policeman in greater New York was shot dead in his tracks " Bubbles's hair began to bristle. "Say," he cried in his excitement, "the straw hats the soft straw hats that Blizzard makes and don't sell they're the white cockades!" Mr. Blicker guffawed. Mr. Lichtenstein rose and paced the room.
Find everything in medicine-closet over wash-basin in bath-room." Lichtenstein disappeared, and gave forth presently the rasping sounds of a man shaving in a hurry. And in the meanwhile, always swift and sure, Mrs. Popple initiated Bubbles into the ABC's of female attire. "No trouble about a straight front for you," she chuckled, and gave a sudden strong tug at the laces of Bubbles's corsets.
"What for?" asked Bubbles, always interested in the smallest details of sporting propositions. "Poker-chips," said Harry, and Bubbles looked his disgust. There was a minute's silence, then: "Harry," said Bubbles, "what do you think he's up to?" "By George," said Harry, "I can't make out. What do you think?" Bubbles's sensitive mouth quivered eagerly.
Short of actual target-practice, he knew by experience that this was the best way to keep the hand and eye in touch with each other. He let his thoughts run as they would. And presently he heard the sound of Bubbles's feet upon the back stairs. "All serene here," said West. "All serene there," said Bubbles, and he produced a slip of paper upon which Rose had written: "Don't come so often.
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