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"Don't speak of this to me again. Whatever put such an idea into your head?" said Anne, her sense of humor getting the better of her wrath. It was such an absurd situation. "Yeh're a likely-looking girl and hev a right-smart way o' stepping," said Sam. "I don't want no lazy woman. Think it over. I won't change my mind yit awhile. Wall, I must be gitting. Gotter milk the cows."
"'Yes, beer, I says quietly. "'An' where'd you be gittin' it from? asks one. "'Never yeh mind that, I answers. 'I've a dozen or two bottles of English stout I brought aboard, an' since yeh're so anxious to taste a drop o' beer, I don't mind lettin' yeh have some at a price, o' course. "'What's the figure? Towers inquires suspiciously. He was a Michigan man. "'A dollar th' bottle.
What I mean's this," hastily, as the Maitland temper showed dangerous indications of going into active eruption: "I s'pose yeh don't want me tuh mention't yeh're married, jes' yet? Mrs. Maitland here," with a nod to her, "didn't seem tuh take kindly tuh the notion of it's bein' known " "Hickey!" "Ah, excuse me!" "Drive on, cabby instantly! Do you hear?"
Shorn of the thick, seal-brown winter hair, the brand was now plainly visible. Enlightenment came to Yorke in a flash, as he peered over his superior's shoulder. "D Two!" he gasped, "I knew I'd seen that horse somewhere! It's 'Duster, Larry Blake's horse. Tchkk! this must be him. My God!" "Shure!" snapped Slavin testily. "Wake up! Is yeh're mem'ry goin', man?
Anisty stuffed something bulky back into his pocket and wadded another something green and yellow colored into a little pill, which he presently flicked carelessly across the table. The detective's large mottled paw closed over it and moved toward his waistcoat. "As I was sayin'," he resumed, "I'm sorry yeh don't see yer way to givin' us a hand. But p'rhaps yeh're right.
I guess he made his getaway from yu' easy. Mighty long toime since yuh've bin able tu dhrag yeh're guts up that ladder lit alone squeege thru' th' thrap-dhure. Bet Lanky does all th' chorin'." He glanced around him impatiently, "But this here's all talk it don't lead nowheres. Hullo! this is Gully's team, ain't it?" He indicated a splendid pair of roans standing in a double stall nearby.
One av yeh're own cases last month, tu!" He tenderly pocketed the clippers. "Yes! ye shud know him!" dryly "lukked troo th' bottom av a glass wid him often enough." "Let's see'f he's got any letters or anything in his pockets to make sure!" began Redmond eagerly. Suiting the action to the word he bent down to investigate. But Slavin intruded a huge arm.
Simultaneously it careened with the impact of a heavy bulk landing upon the step and falling in a heap on the deck. "My worrd, what's that?" came from aloft. Maitland was altogether too startled to speak. The heap sat up, resolving itself into the semblance of a man; who spoke in decisive tones: "If yeh're goin' there, I'm goin' with yeh, 'r yeh don't go see?"
Slavin's face cleared and he emitted a weary sigh of relief. "As you will, yeh're Worship," he said. "T'will be helpin' me out, tu . . . yeh undhershtand?" His meaning stare drew a comprehensive nod from Gully. "I have not a man tu shpare for escort just now." He turned to the hobo. "Fwhat say yu', me man?" was his curt ultimatum, "Fwhat say yu' tu th' kindniss av his Worship?
"Ah, they're all dead ones," Hickey disagreed with disdain as the young man moved down the row of gates, trying one after another. "Yeh're only wastin' " He broke off with a snort as Maitland, somewhat to his own surprise managing to move the gate of the third shaft from the night elevator, stepped into the darkened car and groped for the controller.