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Updated: June 5, 2025
Girls ain't got any business learnin' lessons off'n men. "Grand-dad said, 'Aw! forget it, Joe. She's got my permission, so let that end it. George Bremner's all right. "The settlers are arranging for a teacher up here next summer. Why can't she wait till then and get her lessons from a reg'lar professional, and no gol-durned amatoor, said Joe.
I really fancied I had a clew to the Steynholme murderer. And where do you think it ended? In the loft of your club-room, Mr. Tomlin. In a box of old clothes at that. Silly, isn't it?" "Wot! Them amatoor play-hactin' things?" "Exactly." Elkin grunted, though intending to laugh. "Not so sharp for a London 'tec, I must say," he cried. "Why, those props have been there since before Christmas." "Yes.
Upon my honor, I would hold my right hand up and take my Bible-oath, if it was not busy with the pen at this moment, I do not believe the Scarabee had the least idea in the world of the satire on the student of the Order of Things implied in his invitation to the "amatoor."
"Ho!" ses Ginger, sniffing, "a amatoor." "Amatoor?" ses Bill, shouting. "That's wot we should call you over in Australia," ses Ginger; "my name is Dick Duster, likewise known as the Sydney Puncher. I've killed three men in the ring and 'ave never 'ad a defeat." "Well, put 'em up," ses Bill, doubling up 'is fists and shaping at 'im.
"Wot's this about them amatoor clo'es?" he inquired portentously. "Oo 'as the key of that box?" "I have," said Elkin. "I locked it after the last performance, and, unless you've been up to any monkey tricks, Tomlin, the duds are there yet." "You're bitin' me 'ead off all the mornin', Fred," protested the aggrieved landlord. "Fust, the gin was wrong, an' now I'm supposed to 'ave rummidged yur box.
As for the Pony Express ridin', I will even take on the job myself for a spell, until you're better. Does that comfort you any?" Thurston shook his head and smiled. "You couldn't do it," he said. "You, a English gentleman a titled lord, I'm told. You couldn't do it. You gotter be some horseman 'fore you kin ride in the Pony Express. You gotter be brought up to it. 'Tain't no fancy amatoor job."
Upon my honor, I would hold my right hand up and take my Bible-oath, if it was not busy with the pen at this moment, I do not believe the Scarabee had the least idea in the world of the satire on the student of the Order of Things implied in his invitation to the "amatoor."
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