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Then Soapy laughed, choked, and groping before him blindly, staggered forward, and pitching sideways, fell with his head beneath a table and died there. Spike leaned back among his cushions and, glancing away across close-cropped lawns and shady walks, sighed luxuriously. "Say, Ann," he remarked. "Gee whiz, Trapesy, there sure ain't no flies on this place of old Geoff's!" "Flies," said Mrs.
"Well, say if you could cop me one o' Geoff's cigarettes one o' them with gold letterin' onto 'em " "You mean thieve you one!" "Why, no, a cigarette ain't thievin'. Say, now, dear old Trapesy, I'm jest dyin' for a gasper!" "Well, you go on dyin', an' I'll set right here an' watch how you do it." "If I was t' die you'd be sorry for this, I reckon."
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