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I was glad it wasn't, because I wanted him to stay in with his own fellows now and not bother with me. It was Bert Winton. "H'lo, Blakeley," he said, in that quiet kind of a way he has; "I thought everybody was in bed." "I see you're not in bed," I told him, kind of grouchy. He said, "Me? Oh, no, I always prowl around after fox trails and things.

Not very consistently, but without ever wearying of the jest, they shadowed him to find out if he did not write poetry; and while no one had actually caught him, he was still suspect. Genie said nothing when Carl called, "H'lo, son!" and sat on a neighboring rock. "What's trouble, Genie? You look worried." "Why don't any of you fellows like me?"

Eddie Klemm called, with business-like cordiality: "H'lo, Fatty! Come in. How's your good health? Haven't reformed, have you? Going to join us rough-necks? Come on; I'll teach you to play pool. Won't cost you a cent." "No, I guess I hadn't better. I was just looking for Carl." "Well, well, Fatty, ain't we ree-fined! Why do we guess we hadn't to probably maybe oughtn't to had better?"

A few among them watched, and even followed her a little way as she turned the corner into Fourteenth Street. "She goes home by the Third Avenue L," said Carlotta. "Sometimes I've walked with her that far. H'lo! Why's Fowle goin' east in a taxi! He lives on West Seventeenth. Betcher a dime he's after Winnie." "Whadda ya mean after her?" cried another girl.

By this time he seemed to have regained his customary air of geniality, being one of those rather uncommon men whose apparent characteristics are never so marked as when they are acting a part. "H'lo, Ronnie," he cried affably, "I met Helen as she left for the theater. She has an inquiring mind, but I headed her off. By the way, will you be at this luncheon to-morrow?" "Not I," laughed Tower.

"You're dead!" he exclaimed. "You're plumb salivated!" He pushed, and the man-target toppled and fell. "Ain't you goin' to bury him?" queried Bailey. Pete whirled. The color ran up his neck and face. "H'lo, Jim." "How'd you know it was me?" Bailey stood up. "Knowed your voice." "Well, come on up. I was wonderin' who was down there settin' off the fireworks.

He had been vouchsafed one expressive look by Winifred as she hurried away, and he watched the slim figure darting up half a dozen steps to a small brown-stone house, and opening the door with a latch-key. Oddly enough, the policeman's attention was drawn by the girl's movements. His air changed instantly. "H'lo," he said, evidently picking on Fowle as the doubtful one of these two.

Tower to see you, sir," he said breathlessly. "What?" shrieked the Senator in a shrill falsetto. "Yes, sir. It's Mr. Tower himself, sir." "H'lo, Bill!" came a familiar voice. "Here I am! No spook yet, thank goodness!" Meiklejohn literally staggered to the door and nearly fell into Ronald Tower's arms. Of the two men, the Senator seemed nearer death at that moment.

But Billy was very devout in his own way, and never missed service nor Wednesday evening prayer-meeting in his own church. "H'lo, Billy!" cried Cricket, beaming. "Don't you want to carry my prayer-book? I want to get those wild roses." Billy was only too delighted. "Had a good sermon?" pursued Cricket, in very grown-up fashion, as they walked along, side by side, after the roses were secured.

They high-stepped through the gloom, and finally, with firmer step, up the gravel walk and into the white-lighted, screened-in porch. Three waiters ran toward their entrance. A woman with a bare V of back facing them, and three plumes that dipped to her shoulders, turned square in her chair. "Hi, Charley. Hi, Loo!" "H'lo, Jess!"