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"C'mon," said he and took her again by the hand. They had not gone ten steps when she stumbled and fell against him. "Whatsa matter?" "Nothing," was the almost breathless reply. "I'm I'm all right. I just stepped on a sharp stone." "Yore shoes!" he murmured, contritely. "I never thought. Why didn't you say something? Here."
"C'mon," said Johnny. "We've met that bird in worse places than this; we can meet him again." But they did not meet him, although they walked the full length of the bridge. There was not a place on the whole structure where a man could hide, but they searched it thoroughly. Then Johnny searched the sides, the abutments.
Humans were, by Irschchan standards, quite informal, sometimes to the point of appearing rude. But they did not intend offense, and she really ought to adapt to their ways, so she added, "You may call me Corina." "Great! We find you a cabin, that's first, then we can eat, if you're as hungry as I am. C'mon, let's get a shuttle." That reminded Corina that she hadn't eaten since the previous night.
The telephone rang, but was ignored. "Send it off," he directed Bean above the bell's clear call. "Then c'mon; go ball game. G'wup 'n subway." "Got car downstairs," suggested Bean. "You got your work cut out f'r you; 'sall I got t' say," growled Breede. "'S little old last year's car," said Bean modestly.
I'm telling you if he gets any more I'm gonna make you hard to find." "Is that a threat or a promise?" inquired McFluke. "Don't do that," Racey said, suddenly, as his hand shot out and pinned fast the right wrist of Peaches Austin. "C'mon outside now, where we can talk. Right through the door. To yore left. Aw right, now they can't hear us. Lookit, they ain't any call for a gunplay, none whatever.
Joe turned slowly and looked behind him at the blank boards of the unpainted door. Just as slowly he turned back to Casey. A slow grin split his leathery face. "Ain't nobody. It's the hootch. Told yuh, didn't I? Gittin' the best of yuh, ain't it? C'mon I'll show yuh how it's made." "Take a barr'l t' git the besta Casey Ry'n," Casey boasted, his words blurring noticeably. "Where's y'r White Mule?
If chatter would do it, he'd get her mind off that four-hundred-foot drop. "I cue-can't!" breathed Molly. "I cue-can't walk across on that lul-log! I'd fall off! I know I would!" "You ain't gonna walk across the log," he told her with a broad grin. "I'll carry you pickaback. C'mon, Molly, slide off. That's right. Now when I stoop put yore arms round my neck. I'll stick my arms under yore legs.
"Don't let the old man worry you," yapped McFluke. "The old man has done flitted. And Jack's been here and he's done flitted." "Whose hoss is that?" demanded Peaches, evidently referring to Racey's mount. "One of the boys," replied McFluke. "One o' Jack's friends. C'mon in." Entered then Peaches Austin, a lithe, muscular person with pale eyes and a face the colour of a dead fish's belly.
"I got yer number," he said, after a comprehensive survey of my person, "you're C. Calhoun. Ain't you?" "I sure am," I agreed, meeting his taste for the vernacular, "and now for your real name." "Terence McGuire," he smiled, and with a quick gesture he snatched off his cap. "C'mon in, if you like. I'm F. Stone's right-hand man." "What!" I cried, in amazement. "Yep, that's what.
He was finished when the younger one came back with a length of water pipe that would fit over the handle of the jack. The car went up with ease. Then came the business of removing the hubcap and the struggle to loose the lugbolts. Jimmy again suggested the application of the length of pipe. The wheel came off. "C'mon, Jimmy," said Moe. "We'll cut you in."
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