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I promised her I would not fight, and I shall keep my word." "Baby boy!" "Mamma's petsie!" "Softie!" These terms of derision came from several sources, and Frank was swift to note every one. Bascomb laughed again. "You are altogether too good to live, Baby!" he said. "You make me sick!" Frank had kept quiet as long as was possible.
"It is different." "In our minds, but not in the mind of Farmer Baldwin, by a long shot. If we're caught it will be called stealing." "Oh, well, a fellow who won't do anything like this is too good for this world. He's got wings sprouting." "You know well enough that Merriwell is no softie," returned Harry, rather warmly. "He's proved that.
Then: "You'd see what I'd do!" he said ominously. "Garn! Swank!" she repeated. "Now do it! Go on, do it!" "I'll let you off this time," he said judicially. "Garn! Softie. You can't do anything, you can't! You're a softie!" "I could cut your head off an' scalp you an' leave you hanging on a tree, I could," he said fiercely, "an' I will, too, if you go on calling me names." "Softie! Swank!
But at William's gate a small figure slipped out from the darkness and two little arms crept round William's neck. "Oh, William," she whispered, "he's going to-morrow, and I am glad. Isn't he a softie? Oh, William, I do love you, you do such 'citing things!" William lay on the floor of the barn, engrossed in a book. This was a rare thing with William.
'E wanted mae bad." "'E wanted yo? Coorse 'e wanted yo. Yo sud na 'ave gien in to 'im, yo softie. D'yo think yo're the only woon thot's tampted? Look at mae. I could 'a got into trooble saven times to yore woonce, ef I 'ad'n kaped my 'ead an' respected mysel. Yore Jim Greatorex! Ef a maan like Jim 'ad laaid a 'and on mae, 'e'd a got soomthin' t' remamber afore I'd 'a gien in to 'im.
And every bawbee of his fortune has come out of you the fool makes nothing from his other business he would have been a pauper if he hadn't met a softie like you that he could do what he liked with. Write, indeed! I have no patience with a wheen sumphs of men! Them do the work o' the world! They may wear the breeks, but the women wear the brains, I trow.
What " in hushed curiosity and awe "what was he in prison for?" "Stealin'." Her pride was unmistakable. William looked at her in disapproval. "Stealin's wicked," he said virtuously. "Huh!" she jeered, "you can't steal! You're too soft! Softie! You can't steal without bein' copped fust go, you can't." "I could!" he said indignantly.
"Let the kid 'ave a bit of pleasure lookin' forward to it, can't yer? It's little enough she 'as, anyway." William arose with dignity. "All right," he said. "Go'-bye." He strolled away down the street. "Softie!" It was a malicious sweet little voice. "Swank!" William flushed but forbore to turn round. That evening he met the little girl from next door in the road outside her house. "Hello, Joan!"
He is a kind of softie all alive on one side of his brain, and a noodle on the other. A single glass of rum and water puts him under the table. And as he never can refuse this glass, and as the temptation generally seizes him when they are on their rounds, he is always getting John into disgrace. John swears at him and slangs him. No use. Jim sits still, looks well, nohow.
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