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"Oh, I hadn't heard o' that, Bill, but I'm not surprised," replied Brother Joe. "Many a sailor gets to wear a wooden leg in time. Mine's hick'ry." "So's mine," said Cap'n Bill with a air of pride. "I'm glad I've run across you, Joe, for I often wondered what had become of you. Seems too bad, though, to have to spend all your life under water." "What's the odds?" asked Cap'n Joe.
A few steps beyond the mouth of the opening it was pitch dark. "You won't lose your way, though," said the Horner, "for there's only one way to go. The mine's mine and I know every step of the way. How's that for a joke, eh? The mine's mine." Then he chuckled gleefully as they followed him silently down the steep slant.
Mac got as far as Nora Darling, absentmindedly inserted a comma between the words, and there stuck hopelessly. He looked enviously across at Bannister, whose pencil was traveling rapidly down his note-book. "My, what a swift trail your pencil leaves on that paper. That's going some. Mine's bogged down before it got started. I wisht y'u would start me off."
The arm had been strained, and the big fellow nursed it. "Hell, but you're a twister!" the cattleman said with a grimace of pain. Billy Goat was a gentleman, after his kind, and he liked Sergeant Foyle with a great liking. He turned to the crowd and spoke. "Say, boys, this mine's worked out. Let's leave the Happy Land to Foyle. Boys, what is he what is he? What is Sergeant Foyle boys?"
Wish I did know! But mine's a hayseed, daughter of a friend of Aunt Nell's up from the country for the very first time in her life! That's what I drew for being in the family! Well, pray for me, fellows, for here goes!" He made straight for Arethusa. With each step he took towards her, the greater his admiration grew. Mr.
Come to me a month from now, say, is that too long to wait? Well, I think 'tis too long myself. Say a week, then. I must have my wedding-finery, you comprehend. We women are such vain creatures not big and brave and sensible like you men. See, for example, how much bigger your hand is than mine mine's quite lost in it, isn't it?
"No use, boys," said he, "might as well go back, There ain't no fears but what the sheriff'll be smart enough to do 'em yet, if he's alive, an' if he's dead we can't help him any." "If he's dead," remarked Bill Braymer, "an' there's any pay due him, I hope part of it'll come for these horses. Mine's dead, an' Pete's might as well be." "Well," said Jim, "I'll go on to town.
Thank goodness, mine's done at last," and she drifted off to sleep with a jumble of prize designs and golden dreams for the future mingling with that recurring memory of Doris Leighton's hardening face as she spoke of her study for the library panel.
They fit me, you see.... I say, what's your Christian name? I hate surnames, don't you?" "George. What's yours?" "Mine's Lois." "What? How do you spell it?" She spelt it, adding 'Of course. He thought it was somehow a very romantic name. He decidedly liked the name. He was by no means sure, however, that he liked the girl.
"Did I actually print more than four copies of that thing! No no! I'm shot if I did. My memory never fails. I did not print off more than four. James had three; I had one. Mine's in my album upstairs. I know what James did with his. Cousin Grace has one; Wilson Firth has another; he gave the third to this Mrs. Marlow and she's got it!
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