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"The fifteenth," said Caleb; smoking reflectively through another long pause before he added. "And then come the business fireworks. Have you made up your mind what-all you're goin' to do, Buddy?" "Oh, yes," said Tom, as if this were merely a matter in passing. "We'll consolidate the two plants and the coal-mine, if it's agreeable all around." The iron-master took a fresh hitch in his chair.
"The worst of it is," another man was muttering in a shrill hysterical voice, "bein' thrown over to the sharks. Gee, they ain't got a right to do that, even if it is war time, they ain't got a right to treat a Christian like he was a dead dawg." "They got a right to do anythin' they goddam please, buddy. Who's goin' to stop 'em I'd like to know," cried the red-faced man.
He thought that if he went away from the wagon and the herd and played while they were catching the wild cow, it would be just the same as if he took a nap. Mother hadn't thought of it, or she might have suggested it. So Buddy went away from the wagon and down into a shallow dry wash where the wild cow would not come, and played.
That phenomenon, by the way, had nothing to do with the provisions of the Eighteenth Amendment, it merely explained why farmers went to bed early they couldn't afford to sit up, so Buddy decided.
For fifteen minutes he said nothing, but worked the throttle and watched the speedometer. Then he called Paul again to the seat. "You might as well take her, Buddy," declared John with a puzzled shake of his head; "I can't do any better with her than you. She wallows along like a man with a load of buckshot in his pockets heavy and seems out of equilibrium, too!"
Eight hours a day was enough for me, but while I was working I did my best. When Harry, under stress, snapped at me, I learned to hear him say, "Take another shrimp, Joe." Cocktail shrimp, waiting in the cooler, out of sight from the grill. I acquired a reputation for good humor. I borrowed my buddy Morgan's truck on a clear evening in late July and picked up Jamie.
So first he and Buddy went in bathing and, for fear the salt water would make the red color fade out of Sammie's eyes, Percival didn't hold the bag of salt in the pond when he made the waves. Sammie and Buddy had a good time splashing around, and then they built a sand house. But they took care to make it strong enough so that it would not cave in.
Buddy was ahead, waving the flag with one hand, and beating the drum with the other, and Sammie was firing his wooden gun as fast as he could fire it, with ever so many "Boom-Booms!" real loud ones, too, and shooting, oh, ever so many make-believe Indians, when, all of a sudden, poor Sammie Littletail slipped off the plank, and fell into the deep part of the pond!
Sharing the soldiers' inveterate prejudice against hospitals attended by young doctors, who, the men believed, were addicted to much surgery for the sake of practice, my poor "buddy" strove to do his regular duties. He paraded with the sick before the regimental doctor as seldom as possible.
"Just around the corner from MoneyBags," Joe said, straightening. Mo tossed her head. "Look," Joe said. "Pax. I like being your old buddy. Rob's a nice guy, actually." "You can tell?" "Guaranteed. Joe Burke's seal of approval." Mo thought. "She is pretty." "Mmm." Joe never knew what women meant when they discussed looks. "Dynamite kim chee," he said. "Stay in touch, Joe."