United States or Switzerland ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
"We can't see them, so they can't see us." "Don't talk run," whispered Punch. "That's right round to your left. Don't mind me if I hang back a bit. I am short-winded yet. I shall follow you." For answer, Pen slackened pace, and let Punch pass him. "Whatcher doing?" whispered the boy. "You go first," replied Pen, "just as fast as you can. I will keep close behind you."
The foreman here, a South-of-Market San-Franciscan by his speech, shouted a command to one of the drivers and came up to Truxton. "Whatcher want to-day?" he demanded. "Ten foot?" "Nine," Truxton told him, shortly. "Nine an' a half by the time you get to that first stake. Nine three-quarters at the second. Can you get that far to-day?"
"Good chap!" said the boy, sighing. "You always was a trump; but don't play with a poor fellow. There can't be no breakfast." "Oh, can't there? I'll show you; and I want to begin. I say, Punch, I'm nearly starved." "I'm not," said the poor fellow sadly. "I couldn't eat." "Oh, well, you have got to, so look sharp, or I shall go mad." "Whatcher mean?" "I told you I'm starving.
"'Long the Nyack road, but he has his office in Nyack he's a lawyer," said the visitor, as he drew his rubber hat down over his ears. "Can we get back to Nyack by that other road?" "Whatcher goin' to do?" "We'll have to go and see Old Man Stanton," Tom said, "then if we don't get pinched we'll start north." Mr. Flint looked at him in astonishment.
Life got so miserable at home, and I was so sick of the law, that I led such a life with my uncle through begging him to let me go back to the school, that he, one day " "Well, whatcher stopping for?" cried the boy, whose cheeks were flushed and eyes sparkling with excitement. "I don't like talking about it," replied Pen.
At night, in bed, he kissed Florette's bare back between the shoulder blades, and snuggled close to her, hugging her desperately with his little thin arms. "Flo," he quavered, "you you ain't lonesome no more, are you?" "Me? Lonesome? Whatcher talkin' about, kid?" sleepily murmured Florette. "You ain't never lonesome when you got me around, are you, Flo?" "Sure I ain't. Go to sleep, honey."
"Oh, what's the sense of being silly about nothing but just a bird?" insisted Hen. "I'll fight any fellow who proposes eating this poor little wayfarer," announced Greg. "Whatcher getting mad about?" snapped Hen. "Pigeons are made just for eating, and we can "
Consider yerselves under arrest. I apprehend yer in the name of the Commonwealth. Stay right where yer be. I'll go an' get Eb." "No, you won't, either," said Mr. Daddles. He and Sprague darted forward at the same moment. They grabbed the little man, each by an arm, and commenced walking him rapidly toward the boat. "Here, here! Whatcher doin'? Lemme be! Lemme be! This is assault!
A moment they sharpened in their gaze as he brought his visitor into focus. Then he laughed, a loose, idiot laugh, that yet somehow was half a sneer. "Ah! The Old Wolf!" said he. "Got here at last, eh? And whatcher gonnerdo wi' me, eh?" He hiccoughed resoundingly, and sagged back loosely in his chair. Old Wolverstone stared at him in sombre silence.
Whatcher doing of!" roared Bob, beginning to struggle, as Dexter contrived to get his feet once more. "I I couldn't help it, Bob," he said, in a shame-faced way. "Couldn't help it! Here, don'tcher try to wake me again that way." "I didn't. "Coming jumping on a fellow." "I didn't, Bob. The boat stopped all at once, and I tumbled forward."
Word Of The Day