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Some dog, you, some big man-dog." He turned back to Lerumie, illuminating him as he clung in the rigging, and his voice was harsh and cold as he addressed him. "What name belong along you fella boy?" he demanded. "Me fella Lerumie," came the chirping, quavering answer. "You come along Pennduffryn?" "Me come along Meringe." Captain Van Horn debated the while he fondled the puppy in his arms.
Also, I wanted the meat of some of the smaller clams to make a chowder. My instruction to the natives finally ripened into the following "You fella bring me fella big fella clam kai-kai he no stop, he walk about. You fella bring me fella small fella clam kai-kai he stop."
There's nothin' puts a fella in wrong with the boys quicker than for him to let on he is a hand when he ain't. 'Course the boys won't mind seem' you top a bronc and get throwed, just to see if you got sand." Meanwhile Cheyenne manipulated the coffee-pot and skillet most effectively. And while Bartley ate his supper, Cheyenne talked, seemingly glad to have a companion to talk to.
His keen face, with those unforgettable eyes, so fierce and yet so humorous, flushed with pleasure at the sight of us. His ruddy hair was shot with grey, and the furrows upon his brow had been cut a little deeper by Time's chisel, but in all else he was the Lord John who had been our good comrade in the past. "Hullo, Herr Professor! Hullo, young fella!" he shouted as he came toward us.
He stood before the bars, peering in, and whenever no one else was about he murmured: "Poor fella, they won't let you go, heh? You got a worse boss 'n Goglefogle, heh? Poor old fella." He didn't at all mind the disorder and rancid smell of the cage; he had no fear of the tiger's sleek murderous power. But he was somewhat afraid of the sound of his own tremorous voice.
"My word," she went on. "One big fella talk. Sun he go down talk-talk; sun he come up talk-talk; all the time talk-talk. What name that fella talk-talk? "Oh, nothing much." He shrugged his shoulders. "They were trying to buy Berande, that was all." She looked at him challengingly. "It must have been more than that. It was you who wanted to sell."
Yeager met Harrison swaggering up the gravel walk toward the house. A malevolent gleam lit in the cold black eyes of the bully. "How you feeling, young fella?" "A hundred and eighty years old," answered the cowpuncher promptly with a grin. "Every time I open my mouth my face cracks. You ce'tainly did give me a proper trimming. I don't know sic-'em about this scientific fight game."
Through the darkness, as the squall spent itself, came the slatting of the half-lowered mainsail, the shrill voices of the boat's crew, a curse of Borckman's, and, dominating all, Skipper's voice, shouting: "Grab the leech, you fella boys! Hang on! Drag down strong fella! Come in mainsheet two blocks! Jump, damn you, jump!"
Wallenstein lounged back in his chair, chuckled, twisted his yellow mustache, and dozed. He was aroused by the excited voice of Worth, crying out: "Ring the big fella bell! Ring plenty too much! Ring like hell!" Wallenstein gained the veranda in time to see the manager jump his horse over the low fence of the compound and dash down the beach after Grief, who was riding madly ahead.
Then instead of going out with his usual "I gotta beat it!" he sat languidly on the doorstep in the dusk, and when she anxiously questioned if he were sick he said crossly: "Aw, Gee! Can't ya let a fella alone! I'm all in, can't ya see it? I'm gonta bed!" and knowing he had said the most alarming thing in the whole category he slammed upstairs to his own room and flung himself across his bed.
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