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In the hallway he ran into Paul Orben, one of the older students whom he knew real well. "Why in such a hurry, Dick?" questioned Paul, good-naturedly grabbing him by the shoulder. "I want to get to town to send a telegram home," answered Dick. Then, struck by a sudden idea, he added: "Paul, is your motorcycle ready for use?"
The negro who was at the other loophole, dazed with fear, had discharged his gun straight into the ceiling overhead, and then, flinging it down, turned and ran. I could not pursue him, and grabbing a third gun from Dorothy, I fired again at the Indians, some of whom were swarming up the steps. As I did so, I stared an instant in amazement, for at the shot two men had fallen.
In that hand-to-hand fighting there was no shooting but only the struggling of interlaced bodies, with fists and claws grabbing for each other's throats. I saw men use teeth and bite their enemy to death with their jaws, gnawing at their windpipes.
"The big fellows are grabbing off twenty-five or thirty per cent in their foreign money deals," went on the banker. "Tightening home credits so as to do it! What's fair for big is fair for little!" "The profit is attractive, surely," the cashier stated. "Our stockholders have honored me right along, and I'd like to show 'em that I deserve my reputation as a financier.
He had sot out the whiskey bottle on the bar and shoved out the cork with his thumb and forefinger. I 'spose that was to let me get a whiff of the stuff. I got it. I reached out my hand, pushed the cork back in the bottle, and then grabbing it by the neck brought it down on the bar with a bang that broke it into a dozen pieces and sent the whiskey flying about the room.
"This has been a very bitter business, Thursby," he said. "It's cost me a lot of cattle and money, and I'll not take back a thing I've said about Haig's grabbing everything in sight, and ruining his neighbors. But I will say, after what you've told me, that damn it, Thursby! he is a man." "He's ready to fight with you or talk with you, as you wish." Huntingdon eyed him suspiciously.
Rip pushed the lock bar and pulled himself in by grabbing the door frame. He couldn’t help thinking it was a rather undignified way to make an entrance. Seated in an acceleration chair, a safety belt across his middle, was Space Commander Keven O’Brine, an Irishman out of Dublin. He was short, as compact as a deto-rocket, and obviously unfriendly.
Then after an instant of flurry and noise, Bruce felt Mahan's fingers on his shoulder and heard the stark appeal of Mahan's whispered voice. Instantly the dog was a professional soldier once more alertly obedient and resourceful. "Catch hold my left arm, Lieutenant!" Mahan was exhorting. "Close up, there, boys every man's hand grabbing tight to the shoulder of the man on his left! Pass the word.
The non-commissioned officer, one of the most brutal and despicable Prussians in the camp, seized his rifle and hurried to the Russian barrack. Here the two suppositious delinquents were pointed out. He went up to the Pole, and grabbing him by the shoulder, roared: "You've been fighting!" The Pole protested that he had not been fighting with anyone.
"Say, I don't think that Hicks is holding his cue just right, fellows," said he, grabbing that worthy's cue away from him and leaning over the table to try a shot himself. "Look, this is the way to do it!" "Aw, you're not holding it right yourself, Holmes," said Launcelot, who prided himself on his knowledge of billiards. "Sneeze, kid, your brains are dusty.
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