United States or Syria ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
"Ride with me," she commanded; and, as soon as Hirst had swung himself across a mule, the two started, leading the cavalcade. "You're not to call me Miss Murgatroyd. I hate it," she said. "My name's Evelyn. What's yours?" "St. John," he said. "I like that," said Evelyn. "And what's your friend's name?" "His initials being R. S. T., we call him Monk," said Hirst.
Now, what's your name? 'My name's Tom. The little chil'en at my old home used to call me Uncle Tom. 'Then I mean to call you Uncle Tom, because, you see, I like you, said Eva. 'So, Uncle Tom, where are you going? 'I don't know, Miss Eva. 'Don't know? said Eva. 'No. I'm going to be sold to somebody. I don't know who. 'My papa can buy you, said Eva quickly.
I had a supernatural warning to steer this course on purpose to pick you up, and this is your gratitude. "'Look here! ses the other. 'My name's Cap'n Naskett, and I'm doing a record trip from New York to Liverpool in the smallest boat that has ever crossed the Atlantic, an' you go an' bust everything with your cussed officiousness.
I've got a new thing running in my head this very minute that you shall hear though, all the same, as soon as I've hammered it into shape a sort of villanette in music, a little whiff of country freshness, suggested by the new ethereal acquisition, little Miss Butterfly. Have you seen Miss Butterfly yet? 'Not by that name, at any rate. Who is she? 'Oh, the name's my own invention.
You want this letter to prove that you had some sort of authority to let me ride. Sorry I can't accommodate you, my son, but those devilish Pinkertons will be after me in twenty- four hours, and this letter would be just meat to them. I'll fix you all right, though. My name's Cummings, Jim Cummings, and I'll write a letter to the St. Louis Globe-Democrat that will clear you Honest to God, I will.
"An' Isbel was always sort of' mysterious aboot his acquaintance with you." "My name's not Blue." "Ahuh! Wal, what is it, then if I'm safe to ask?" returned Blaisdell, gruffly. "It's King Fisher," replied Blue. The shock that stiffened Blaisdell must have been communicated to the others.
"What's your name?" "My name's Gervase Taunton, but I'm called 'the Mhor. This is Peter Jardine," patting the dog's nose. "I'm very glad to know you," said Pamela. "Isn't that wall damp?" "It is rather," said Mhor. "We came to look at you." "Oh," said Pamela. "I've never seen an Honourable before, neither has Peter." "You'd better come in and see me quite close," Pamela suggested.
"Your honor," said the astonished tar, as he discovered the beautiful form before him to be actually possessed of life and breath, and was no senseless piece of statuary, "shiver my topsails, but if I didn't take the lady to be her representation, my name's not John Sampson!" "Sampson!" exclaimed Natalie, actually taking him by the hand, "Are you John Sampson?"
"I was up here with Larry Hilmore and the Goose Island Kid a year or so ago my name's Byrne," exclaimed Billy. "Sure," said the professor; "I gotcha now. You're de guy 'at Larry was a tellin' me about. He said you'd be a great heavy if you'd leave de booze alone." Billy smiled and nodded. "You don't look much like a booze fighter now," remarked Cassidy. "And I ain't" said the mucker.
Maurice, introducing himself "My name's Curtis"; and, taking in all the details of the comfortable, vulgar little room, sat down, took a cigarette, and said it was a warm day for October; she said she hated heat, and he said he liked winter best.... Then he saw a bruise on her wrist and said: "Why, you gave yourself a dreadful knock, didn't you? Was it on the rowlock?"
Word Of The Day