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It was half-past eleven when he arrived at Hook's Hotel, and, as his pony was still too lame to travel, he bought the horse he had hired, and set out with the Sale mailman. At the Moe he found Angus McMillan, William Montgomery, and their stockmen, afraid to cross the creek on account of the flood, and they had eaten all their provisions.
That we often played soldiers goes without saying, but we played "hares" more often, a game in which the counting was done by means of senseless words like the American "Eeny, meeny, miny, moe." Sometimes we would play war, with the names of the belligerents borrowed from the Old Testament, and once in a while we would have a real "war" with the boys of the next street
Ori-a-Ori had known them all, his mother, his wife, and his loved stepson, Lloyd Osborne. Nine weeks they had stayed in his house, which the Princess Moë, Pomaré's sister-in-law, had asked Ori to vacate for the visitors before he knew them, but which he was glad he had done when they became friends.
Despite Abe's resolution, however, a large black cigar protruded from his moustache when he stood on the wharf at Cherbourg, twenty-four hours later, and a small, ill-shaven stevedore, clad in a dark blouse and shabby corduroy trousers, pointed to the cloud of smoke that issued from Abe's lips and chattered a voluble protest. "What does he say, Moe?" Abe asked. "I don't know," Moe replied.
If that cut-throat Rabiner thinks he is going to get me to knock a competitor in front of Geigermann he's mistaken. 'Sure I like him, I says; 'why not? 'In that case, Moe says, 'we'll play some more of this. 'Go as far as you like, I says, and they kept it up till the elevator boy rings the bell and says a lady on the top floor is sick. I don't blame her, Mawruss; I was pretty sick myself."
The driver said to Moe, "Think he's all right?" "He's smart enough." "Who're your parents, kid?" Jimmy Holden realized that this was a fine time to tell the truth, but properly diluted to taste. "My folks are dead," he said. "Who you staying with?" "No one." The driver of the truck eyed him cautiously for a moment. "You escaped from an orphan asylum?" "Uh-huh," lied Jimmy. "Where?"
Here was the place where academic information would be useful and the chance for an "in." Jimmy shoved himself into the small group and said, "Get a longer handle." They turned on him suspiciously. "Whatcha know about it?" demanded one, shoving his chin out. "Get a longer handle," repeated Jimmy. "Go ahead, get one." "G'wan " "Wait, Moe. Maybe " "Who's he?" "I'm Jimmy." "Jimmy who?"
Of these my memory has retained the face of a man who was known as "Carrot Pudding" Moe, a red-headed, broad-shouldered "finger worker," a specialist in "short change," yardstick frauds, and other varieties of market-place legerdemain.
"Good reason, Moe," Leon Sammet cried; "it's rotten. That's one of last year's models." "What are you talking nonsense? One of the last year's models!" Moe Griesman cried indignantly. "Don't you think I know a new style when I see it?" "Moe is right, Leon," Abe said. "You ain't got no business to talk that way at all. The style is this year's model."
"What'cha do, kid?" "What?" "Moe, what did this kid sell you?" "You and your rusty jacks," grunted Moe. "Jimmy James here told us how to put a long hunk of pipe on the handle." "Jimmy James, who taught you about leverage?" demanded the driver suspiciously. Jimmy Holden believed that he was in the presence of an educated man. "Archimedes," he said solemnly, giving it the proper pronunciation.
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