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"Man dear," whispered Father Pat to the scoutmaster, "don't ye ever be visitin' here agin! For, shure, Barber'll kill ye!" "Oh!" Johnnie was frightened. "And maybe he'll have y' 'rested!" "No, old fellow," said Mr. Perkins, reassuringly. "He's lost out, and he's not likely to advertise it. But I'm sorry about that tooth." He hunted it, found it, and examined it carefully.
"Oh, I'm afraid he's hurting One-Eye awful! Oh, Barber'll kill him, Father! And what good'll that do us?" Thus implored, the priest took a swift survey of the hall. But, "Oh, don't go!" Cis begged. "And shut it! Shut it!" "Who's on top?" Johnnie wanted to know. "They're wrastlin'," announced the Father. "So don't be alarmed. And Mr. Gamboni's out there, and he'll not see bloodshed!"
His small face was strained with worry, and the crew eyed him respectfully as he came forward and dealt out white satin favours. "Cap'in Barber'll be all right with you looking arter 'im, sir," said Jones, with strong conviction. "That he will," said the cook, nodding.
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