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That pin-head Sweeney don't make a move till the stretch, then he tries to come from seventh all at once . . . 'n' by God, he does it! That colt comes from nowhere to the Banjo mare while they're goin' an eighth! The boy on Banjo goes to the bat, but the colt just gallops on by 'n' breezes in home. "'You bum! I says to Sweeney. 'What kind of a trip do you call that?
"I don't fight in a public place. I'm a gentleman. I want you to remember what you saw, Mullaney! I'll get to that cheap bum in a way he won't forget." "Do you mind telling me who your friend is?" asked the detective. Dodd shot him a sour side-glance and muttered profanity.
Burns tore up the check before saying, "Now you get out, you bum, and stay out, or take the consequences." "Get out? What for?" "You know what for." Burns was quivering with rage. "You ran a good bluff and you nearly put it over; but I don't want to advertise myself as a jackass, so I shan't have you pinched unless you come back." "Come back? I intend to stay. What's the matter?"
Dick wasn't a bit like himself; but the stranger didn't take no offense, he just smiled a bit careless an' put his cards on the stand, sayin, "Well, I'll just leave 'em here handy, an' if we decide to use 'em later we can open 'em up. For my part, I like a new deck." "So do I," sez the ol' man. "I'm sorry mine are so bum. I meant to send for some new ones a long time ago, but I allus forgot it."
It was a crude travesty of a hymn much sung in religious camp-meetings and revivals, of which the proper chorus as often heard by me in Harry Monroe's mission in the Chicago slums, was: Hallelujah! Thine the glory! Hallelujah! Amen! Hallelujah! Thine the glory! revive us again! Kelly's version was: Hallelujah! I'm a bum! Hallelujah! Bum again! Hallelujah! Give us a hand-out! To save us from sin.
They've been looking for him ever since his son grew up." "Son?" I asked. "Son. Sure! Raising wheat out in Canada somewhere. They give me his address. He's made a pile. I'm going to write to him." "What does Bum say?" "Him? I ain't told him. I won't till I'm sure the kid's coming after him."
An' sometimes, when you talk low, it sounds round and sweet like the 'cello in the Macdonough Theater orchestra. And it never goes high up, or sharp, or squeaky, or scratchy, like some women's voices when they're mad, or fresh, or excited, till they remind me of a bum phonograph record. Why, your voice, it just goes through me till I'm all trembling like with the everlastin' cool of it.
Before Jack could reply, Ned had the man out of the box, with the cords cut from his hands and feet, the cruel gag removed from his mouth. His blue blouse was gone! Chang Chu tumbled over on the floor when Ned tried to stand him on his feet. There was a small cut on his head. "Chang velly much bum!" he said, with his hands on his stomach. "Chang never forgets a word of slang," Jack laughed.
"And say, speakin' of banks," he went on, "what'll I do 'bout sendin' over to Cuivaca fer the pay tomorrow. Next day's pay day. I don't like to send this here bum, I can't trust a greaser no better, an' I can't spare none of my white men thet I ken trust." "Send him with a couple of the most trustworthy Mexicans you have," suggested the boss.
I'm framing a large one for my next show whenever that is." "I'm anxious to see it. I forgot to tell you: after we talked last, I checked out graduate schools and applied to Montpelier. They accepted me for the semester that starts right after Christmas." "Congratulations!" "Yeah, pretty good, huh? Joe Burke, software bum, goes for an MFA. But I'm not sure I should." "Why not?"
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