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Vedder sent you." "He did, sorter. You see, I'm invited to one of them kind of parties whar you dress up ter be the name of a book. One of the stock company is givin' it fer her kids. I don't know the name of any book except Diamond Dick and The Curse of Gold, and I didn't know how to rig up fer them.
The remark seemed to him peculiarly womanish and silly. What on earth did it matter, anyway? But he had patience with her, knowing how sorely better men than he were tried by their wives. "Well," he observed, "kids' memories are very short, aren't they?"
"Sure I can," I told him. "Well, then" he said, "if any of you scout kids goes about sayin' as how Uncle Jimmy went away to the convention, and I ever meet you in your old skiff, by the Big Dipper I'll run you down and cut you in half, that's what I'll do! Do you hear?" he shouted.
"I had trouble with those kids myself this afternoon," remarked Jack Curtiss with a scowl, as they wended their way toward a shed in the rear of Bill Bender's home, which had been fitted tip as a sort of clubroom. "What did they do to you?" incautiously inquired Sam Redding, a youth as big as the other two, but not so powerful. In fact he was used more or less as a tool by them.
They was wished onto me when I wasn't able to defend myself." "Given names are horrid things, aren't they?" Helen May sympathized. "I think mine is perfectly imbecile. Fathers and mothers shouldn't be allowed to choose names for their children. They ought to wait till the kids are big enough to choose for themselves. If I ever have any, I'll call them It.
"Do you like Santa Claus, Reginald?" interrupted Flanders. "I like him better'n I do Dickens," confessed Reginald with considerable positiveness. "Say, what's your name?" "My name is Dick." "Gee! Deadwood Dick, the road-agent? The feller Melissa is always telling us about? Hey, kids, here's " "Sh!" hissed Flanders, clapping his hand over Master Reginald's mouth. "Never mind that!"
They didn't dare go down and they begged him not to leave them up there alone. At this Dopey Charlie spoke up. The 'hop' had commenced to assert its dominion over his shattered nervous system instilling within him a new courage and a feeling of utter well-being. "Go on down," said he to Bridge. "The General an' I'll look after the kids won't we bo?"
I am Gustavus!" He rushed frenetically towards the servants' hall to confer upon the situation with his intellectual subordinate. Meanwhile the Prophet was closeted with the two kids. "Pray sit down," he said, very nervously, and smiling forcibly. "Pray sit down, my dears." The kids obeyed with aplomb, keeping their large and strained eyes fixed upon the Prophet.
Oswald thinks it was not half bad business, those two kids for Noël is little more than one, owing to his poetry and his bronchitis standing in the abode of dynamite and not screeching, or running off to tell Miss Blake, or the servants, or any one but just doing the right thing without any fuss. I need hardly say it did not prove to be the right thing but they thought it was.
Why, they say, he could have got plumb away if he'd shot the posse man that run onto him over by the Mission. But he knew the man was a nester with a wife an' two kids, so he took a chance an' the nester got him." "How could he?" cried the girl, "after " The Texan regarded her gravely. "It was tough. An' he probably hated to do it. But he was a sworn-in posse man, an' the other was a horse-thief.
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