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The only answer that came was a low growl, which frightened Fatty and Blackie more than ever. And then, just as they both began to howl at the top of their voices Fatty's tail was suddenly freed. He was pulling on it so hard that he fell all in a heap on the floor of the barber-shop. And that surprised him. But he was still more surprised when he heard his mother say

"Seven again?" Henry queried. "No, five; one's gone." "The hell!" Henry cried in wrath, leaving the cooking to come and count the dogs. "You're right, Bill," he concluded. "Fatty's gone." "An' he went like greased lightnin' once he got started. Couldn't 've seen 'm for smoke." "No chance at all," Henry concluded. "They jes' swallowed 'm alive.

Then Dicky, who insisted on being the other captain, picked up the bat and threw it with the handle uppermost to Fatty, who caught it around the middle. Then Dicky clasped his fingers around the bat just above Fatty's hand; then Fatty put his left hand above Dicky's right; and Dicky his left hand next; and so on until their fingers almost reached the handle of the bat.

The weather being assured, Fatty's anxieties were mostly allayed, for he had on the file in his office acceptance letters from the distinguished men who were to cast the spell of their oratory over the assembled multitude, as also from the big men in the athletic world who had entered for the various events in the programme of sports.

You kin go to sleep, too, for all I care for you can't catch anything even if you had a peach basket to hold it in." "Play ball!" shouted Fatty, and they all took their places, Dicky's team in the field, and Fatty's at the bat.

But there it was a forest of corn, waving and rustling in the moonlight as the breeze touched it. Fatty felt very happy as he slipped through the rail-fence. I wouldn't dare say how many ears of corn Fatty ate that night. And he would have eaten more, too, if it hadn't been for just one thing. A dog barked. And that spoiled Fatty's fun. For the dog was altogether too near for Fatty to feel safe.

And Fatty, making sure first that his rock-chunk was within reach, challenged. "Well, how about yourself, Bruce Cadogan Cavendish? It's your turn." The other lifted bleak eyes that bored into Fatty's until he physically betrayed uncomfortableness. "I've lived a hard life," Slim grated harshly. "What do I know about love passages?"

His head and neck he had left free, so that he might strike at a fish when one came his way. But he had seen something else that took his fancy. When Fatty's paw scooped into the water Timothy Turtle just had to grab it. "Let me go!" Fatty Coon shrieked, for Mr. Turtle's cruel jaws hurt him terribly. "Why, this is fun!" Timothy Turtle muttered thickly, as he took a firmer hold on Fatty's paw.

Percival Delaney, let us say, yes, let us say Percival Delaney, was not unknown at Oxford once upon a time not for scholarship, I am frank to admit; but the gay young dogs of that day, if any be yet alive, would remember him " "My people came over with the Conqueror," Whiskers interrupted, extending his hand to Fatty's in acknowledgment of the introduction. "What name?" Fatty queried.

"Now, if you'll be careful to run slowly, and do just as I tell you, I can promise that there'll be a capture, without fail." Grumpy had had such bad luck in his hunting about the farmyard that he decided to listen, anyhow. He told himself that he wouldn't take Fatty's advice unless it was much better than he expected. "Well go on!" he grunted. "Do you see that little house near the woodshed?"