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Red had long since given it up as a bad job, though continuing to search, when a shout from the distant Hopalong sent him forward on a run. "Hey, Red!" cried Hopalong, pointing ahead of them. "Look there! Ain't that a house?" "Naw; course not! It's a it's a ship!" Red snorted sarcastically. "What did you think it might be?" "G'wan!" retorted his companion. "It's a mission." "Ah, g'wan yorself!
So I rest my case. I will even go further than that; I defy anyone to point out a single out-and-out lie in the whole story. G'wan I dare ya! Ah, but wait! There is a villain in the piece! I did not lie to you, no. But you were lied to, all the same. By whom? By none less than that conniving arch-fiend, John W. Campbell, Jr., that's who! Wasn't it he who bought the story?
Net hit it and drove it out of the diamond, although Mulloy made a desperate effort to reach it. "Vat vos you goot for, you Irish pogtrotter?" demanded Hans. "Vy did dot ball not stop you?" "G'wan! g'wan!" retorted Barney. "It was a clane hit, Dutchy." "You dood not pelief it. I vill haf to struck efry patter oudt. Der vos no udder vay when a pitcher gets dot kind of rotten suppordt."
As we turned the corner, we ran squarely into a sergeant slowly going his rounds with eyes conveniently closed to what he was paid not to see. Kennedy stopped and grabbed his arm. "There's a girl up here in 72 who is being mistreated," he cried. "Come. You must help us get her out." "Aw, g'wan. Whatyer givin' us? 72? That's a residence." "Say look here. I've got your number.
"And who is that with you?" He gets answers from the anvil chorus. "That's the swindler!" they shouts. "That's Prentice Owens! He's the one that took our money, and the boy is one of the gang! Nab 'em, Mr. Officer, please nab 'em!" "G'wan, you're a lot of flossy kikes!" I throws back at 'em. "Torchy," says Mr. Ellins, "have you been up to any swindling game?" "Honest, I ain't, Mr. Ellins," says I.
"Anyway, they ain't got nothin' t' do with braided linen ropes. G'wan," commanded Bill. "Well," resumed Buck, "one noon, in th' foothills, we come on what we was after, an' we did some stalkin' t' do it. We ketched three guys red-handed.
"Why should he be pinched?" The officer turned roughly upon the stranger, shook him viciously a few times, and then gave him a mighty shove which all but sent him sprawling into the gutter. "G'wan wid yez," he yelled after him, "and if I see ye on this beat again I'll run yez in. An' you" he turned upon Jimmy "ye'd betther be on your way and not be afther makin' up with ivery dip ye meet."
Shall I send Polly to the spring-house for some cold milk?" asked the lady of the house, folding the flimsy crepe token of Sary's state of widowhood. "G'wan now, Miss Brewster I'm no infant!" scoffed Sary. "Don' cher know a fat bein' mustn't tech milk 'cause it's more fattenin'?"
"Be ashamed, bawlin' out me employers in me prisince," said Mr. Quilty. "G'wan out o' here, before I take a shotgun to yez." "Come up and have a drink," McHale invited. "Agin' the rules whin on duty," Quilty refused. "An' I do be on duty whiniver I'm awake. 'Tis prohibition the comp'ny has on me, no less." McHale rode up the straggling street to Shiller's hotel, and dismounted.
"G'wan, you're foolin'," said Finn, the other lumberjack, a quiet, steady, Wisconsin man. "There's my dawgs and sled," Daylight answered. "That'll make two teams and halve the loads though we-all'll have to travel easy for a spell, for them dawgs is sure tired." The three men were overjoyed, but still a trifle incredulous. "Now look here," Joe Hines blurted out, "none of your foolin, Daylight.
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