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We'll have a specialist, and you must not get mired till then. Steady, Chief." "Chief! Chief!" murmured Ingolby. "Dear God, what a chief! I risked everything, and I've lost everything by my own vanity. Barbazon's the horseshoe among the wolves, just to show I could do things better than any one else as if I had the patent for setting the world right. And now now "
One thing only he felt, one thing only heard the men in Barbazon's Tavern saying that the bridge should be blown up on the Saturday night; and this was Saturday night the night of the day following that of the Orange funeral.
"He went prowling in Manitou, and in Barbazon's Tavern they struck him down." "Who struck him down?" she asked. It seemed to her that the night-bird sang so loud that she could scarcely hear her own voice. "A drunken Gorgio," he replied. "The horseshoe is for luck all the world over, and it brought its luck to Manitou to-night.
When Ingolby walked past Barbazon's Tavern arm in arm with Monseigneur Lourde, to the tiny house where the good priest lived, the old man's face beaming with gratitude, and with a piety which was his very life, the jubilant crowd followed them to the very door.
He ain't got back to where he was before the war," remarked Osterhaut sagely. "War that business at Barbazon's! You call that war! It wasn't war," declared Jowett spasmodically, grasping the rail of the fire-engine as the wheel struck a stone and nearly shot them from their seats. "It wasn't war. It was terrible low-down treachery.
Barbazon's muddy face got paler, but his eyes sharpened, and he leaned over the bar-counter, and said with a snarl: "Go to hell, and say what you like; and then I'll have something to say about something else, m'sieu'."
"They started at Barbazon's and they're winding up at Barbazon's. They're drunk enough to-night to want to do anything, and to-morrow when they've got sore heads they'll do anything. They'll make that funeral look like a squeezed orange; they'll show Lebanon and Master Ingolby that we're to be bosses of our own show.
"Osterhaut got wind of it he's staying at old Mother Thibadeau's, as you know. He moves round a lot, and he put me on to it. I took on the job at once. I got in with the French toughs over at Manitou, at Barbazon's Tavern, and I gave them gin we made it a gin night. It struck their fancy gin, all gin!
"They started at Barbazon's and they're winding up at Barbazon's. They're drunk enough to-night to want to do anything, and to-morrow when they've got sore heads they'll do anything. They'll make that funeral look like a squeezed orange; they'll show Lebanon and Master Ingolby that we're to be bosses of our own show.
There was silence for a moment in which they moved slowly forward, and then she said: "You were at Barbazon's last night?" "When that Gipsy son of a dog gave him away!" he assented. "I never heard anything like the speech Ingolby made. He had them in the throat. The Gipsy would have had nothing out of it, if it hadn't been for the horseshoe.
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