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It was not uttered interrogatively; rather as though Ah Cum did not like the significance of the word and was turning it over and about in speculation. "Ye-ah," said O'Higgins, jovially. "Why you pretended not to recognize the photograph of the young fellow you toted around these diggings all day yesterday."
But it was all those bweastwy little bahds and the bells, you know; and it's only once a ye-ah you know, Lorton," he added. "So you will never do so again till next time is that what you mean, Horner?" I asked. "Yaas! But, bai-ey Je-ove, I say, Lorton, my deah fellah, were the Clydes those ladies in hawf-mawning, eh?" said he, smiling feebly in his usual suave manner.
Lot of 'em 'ud try it back to God's country 'f 'twasn't so far." "Would, huh?" Johnny yawned. "Ye-ah, and then the officers are mighty hard on the ones they ketch ketch desertin', I mean officers are; when they ketch 'em, an' they mostly do." "Do what?" Johnny tried to yawn again. "Ketch 'em! They're fierce at that." There was a knowing grin on the sergeant's face, but no wink followed.
"Did he get in?" "Ye-ah put his hand in with the bullet on a string, got his foot in the door, gave the password and heaved the door wide open. Come on, now, and there's orders not to take the woman, remember."
"Ye-ah," drawled old Doc Smithers, precipitating a large mouthful of brown liquid into the fireplace. "Bob, he'll pet 'im, an' that ol' bulldog o' his'n 'ull lick im, an' next thing we know Bob'll be givin' 'im a claim, just like he took in Handsome Harry hisself goin' on two years ago. Look at the dandy, struttin'! Bob buys 'im all them fancy togs an' loves to see 'im wearin' 'em.
The old man chuckled as he had at the beginning of this tale. "Well, that was business," agreed Shade impatiently. "When are you goin' to start for Big Unaka?" The old man rolled his great head between his shoulders. "Ye-ah," he assented; "business. But it was bad business for Zack Shalliday.
Good-night! Toddle along, bo; there's nothing coming from me. Nix." "Would ten dollars make you talk?" asked the reporter, desperately. "Ye-ah about the Kaiser and his wood-sawing. By-by!" The operator, secretly enjoying the reporter's discomfiture, shut off the lights, slammed the elevator door to the latch, and walked to the revolving doors, to the tune of Garry Owen.
Why, sure, it's finer at night. Lots finer. You know that kind of a light the peanut-roaster man has got down by the post-office. Burns that kind of stuff they use to take out grease-spots. Ye-ah. Gasoline. Well, at the circus at night, they don't have just one light like that, but bunches and bunches of them on the tentpoles. No, silly! Of course not. Of course they don't set the tent afire.
It looks like some new brand of soft drink we'll be having after July first. Greek or Bulgarian. Anyhow, he didn't awsk for a bawth. Looks as if he needed one, too. Here, boy!" "Ye-ah!" "Take a peek at this John Hancock." "Gee! That must be the guy who makes that drugstore drink Boolzac." The clerk swung out, but missed the boy's head by a hair. The boy stood off, grinning. "Well, you ast me!"
Johnny waited anxiously for the wink. "But it's tough, now ain't it?" observed the sergeant. "We can't go home and can't fight. What we here for, anyway?" "Ye-ah," Johnny smiled hopefully. "Expected to go home long ago, but no transportation, not before spring; not even for them that's got discharges and papers to go home. It's tough!
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