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“Well, I didn’t mean to, and I won’t do it again. But now that you are out of school, come on, let’s go have a game of ball. It’ll be lots of fun,” went on Bawly. So the two brothers hopped off, and found Billie and Johnnie Bushytail, the squirrels, and Sammie Littletail, the rabbit boy, and some other animal friends, and they had a fine game, and Bawly made a home run.
And then he would have looked at this last note, and have said to himself, ‘It’s really not worth while to give back one hundred; let’s spend that, too!’ That’s how the real Dmitri Karamazov, as we know him, would have behaved. One cannot imagine anything more incongruous with the actual fact than this legend of the little bag. Nothing could be more inconceivable.
When Bawly bounced up out of the water to catch his breath, which nearly ran away from him down to the five-and-ten-cent-store—when Bawly bounced up, I say, who should he see but Lulu Wibblewobble, the duck girl, swimming around on the pond. “Hello, Lulu!” called Bawly. “Hello!” answered Lulu. “Come on, Bawly, let’s see who can throw a stone the farthest; you or I.”
‘You may say that!—for, were I a farmer, like the rest, I should have something to do, like the rest—something that I cared for—and I should come home tired at night, and fall asleep, as the rest do, before the fire; but when I comes home at night I am not tired, for I have been doing nothing all day that I care for; and then I sits down and stares about me, and at the fire, till I become frighted; and then I shouts to my brother Denis, or to the gossoons, “Get up, I say, and let’s be doing something; tell us the tale of Finn-ma-Coul, and how he lay down in the Shannon’s bed, and let the river flow down his jaws!” Arrah, Shorsha!
“Now we’re even,” said Bawly, who felt good-natured again. “Let’s go for a walk in the woods and we’ll get some wild flowers and maybe something will happen. Who knows?” “Who knows?” agreed Lulu. So off they started together, talking about the weather and ice cream cones and Fourth of July and all things like that. For it was Saturday, you see, and there was no school.
And taking a pen from the table, Mitya rapidly wrote two lines, folded the paper in four, and thrust it in his waistcoat pocket. He put the pistols in the case, locked it up, and kept it in his hand. Then he looked at Pyotr Ilyitch with a slow, thoughtful smile. “Now, let’s go.” “Where are we going?
“Oh, pooh!” cried the frog boy. “I can, of course. You’re only a girl.” Well, would you ever believe it? When Bawly and Lulu were out on the shore of the pond and had thrown their stones, Lulu’s went ever so much farther than did Bawly’s. Oh! she was a good thrower, Lulu was! “Well, anyhow, I can beat you jumping!” cried Bawly. “Now, let’s try that game.”
Barclay, that Westby, reading the Harvard news in his Boston paper, went giggling into Morrill’s room. “There’s a fellow named Upton playing on the Freshmen.” He showed Morrill the name. “Let’s get a crowd and go in to Kiddy; I’ll get him rattled.” “How?” asked Morrill.
And since his two visitors did not dare follow him into the dark cavern where he lived, they decided at last that they would go home—and get into bed. “Let’s take away his sign, anyhow!” Jasper Jay suggested. So they pulled down Solomon’s sign, which said “Disputes Settled Within,” and they carried it off with them and hid it in some bushes.
‘Hush—pray let’s hear what they say!’ exclaimed Mrs. Tibbs, the gratification of whose curiosity was now paramount to every other consideration. ‘Ah! if I could but believe you,’ said a female voice coquettishly, ‘I’d be bound to settle my missis for life.’ ‘What does she say?’ inquired Mr. Evenson, who was not quite so well situated as his companion.
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