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"Look here, Billy, you may be right. It probably doesn't matter to us. But it'll be perfectly awful for him." "They can't do anything to him, Sharlie." "It's what he'll do to himself." "Suicide? Not he." "I don't mean that. Can't you see that when he gets away to England, safe, and the funk settles down he'll start romancing all over again.
Nickie was very partial to square gin, and although the Missing Link had a proper sense of duty, the inner man was weak. "Helup vourseluf, Sharlie," said Schmitz. Nickie helped himself. He helped himself liberally. Schmitz fell on Mahdi's neck, and embraced him freely. "Mein goot friend," he gurgled, "I like you. You shplended fellow. Dot's so, sure.
"Mein gracious!" he said. "Dot iss a sdrange ting dot haff happened mit you, Sharlie," he said, in a wondering, small voice. "Sharlie!" he called. "Sharlie!" The Missing Link gave no reply. "Pless mein soul!" gasped the Dutchman. Suddenly a gleam of intelligence shot through the publican's boosy gloom.
"Look oud for dese har biscuits!" exclaimed his partner, anxiously. "Oh, hang the biscuits!" was Charlie's hasty answer. "I'll watch 'em. Why didn't you?" "Ay tank Ay fergit hem." "Well, you don't want to forget. A feller forgot his clothes once, an' he got froze." "Ay gass dose faller vas ketch in a sbring snowstorm. Vas dose biscuits done, Sharlie?"
He went with an uneven dropping movement of one hip. Charlotte followed him. "Get into your seat, Sharlie. We've got to wait for Billy and McClane." He dragged himself awkwardly into the place beside her. "John," she said, "are you hurt?" "No. But I think I've strained something. That's why I couldn't lift that damned stretcher." The windows stood wide open to the sweet, sharp air. She heard Mrs.
Ay'll go und take a beek." He slipped away and cautiously approached the house. "Et's all right," he whispered, hoarsely, returning after a moment; "dere all asleeb. But go easy; Ay tank ve pest go easy." They seemed burdened all at once with the consciences of criminals, and went forward with almost guilty timidity. "Thunder, dere's a bump! Vy don'd you drive garefuller, Sharlie?"
"Il est bon, il est gai, mon soldat," but he sometimes drank too much alcohol, and that was a bad habit. Perhaps now, since his comrade had stepped into a cellar hole Monday night while he was drunk, and had been drowned, her "Sharlie" would be warned and would do better. Marie was evidently a well brought up child. Her father, she said, had been a schoolmaster.
Even then there was always something beyond it, something you looked for and missed, something you thought would come that never came. There was something he did. She couldn't remember. That would be one of the things you wanted to forget. She saw his thick fingers at dessert, peeling the peaches. Perhaps his way of calling her "Poor Sharlie?"
"Sharlie, Sharlie, let him go!" cried Nels, in a voice smothered with laughter. "Ay go in dose parn; maype ha'll chase me." His hope was well founded. The dog, observing this treacherous occupation by the enemy of his last harbour of refuge, gave pursuit and disappeared within the door, which Charlie, hard behind him, closed with a bang. There was the sound of a hurried scuffle within.
He pointed a finger straight at Nickie, lurched towards him, crossed the room in a stagger, and drove his inquiring digit against the mysterious visitor. The mysterious visitor was solid. Schmitz was beaten. "Sharlie," he said, "is it true dot you vos, or is it true dot you aind't?" Nickie offered him the bottle in a friendly way, and Schmitz took it and drank.
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