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Updated: July 26, 2025
"You won't leave Blizzard up to me all alone, will you? Not now, you won't?" "No, Bubbles, not now. Whenever he's posing in this room, you and I won't be far off." "Because," said Bubbles, smiling with relief, "I'd do my best, but if it came to a show-down with him there ain't a thing I could do." "One time or another," said Harry, "we'll get him. You and I will." "I betcher," said Bubbles.
"You betcher sweet!" she mumbled, with a mouth full of Pommery. "Say!" said Skinski to me, after we had ordered some breadstuff for the leading lady, "you're not such a late train with the sleight-of-hand gag yourself, Mr. Manager!" "Oh! I'm only a piker at it," I replied, modestly.
At seven o'clock Dodo came in with one of those sunburst souses, and as she went sailing by to her dressing room she gave us the haughty head and murmured, "You betcher sweet!" Seven thirty and no Skinski. I was nervous, but I wasn't a marker to Bunch. He had long since graduated from biting his finger nails, and was now engaged in eating the brim of his opera hat.
She pocketed the money with her customary giggle, as she responded, nodding her head emphatically, "You jest betcher life I will."
He was sniffing himself by this time, for as the launch swiftly approached the derelict the unpleasant odour became more pronounced. "Betcher that schooner was in collision with a steamer," Captain Scraggs announced. "She was cut down right through the fo'castle with the watch below sound asleep, an' this here fragrance appeals to me as a sure sign of a job for the coroner."
"The boiler-riveted nerve of him!" gasped Chiz. "But let him wait!" The sea grew yet rougher. The 323 was bouncing pretty lively, but hanging onto her twenty knots. "And at twenty you let her hang if she rolls her crow's nest under!" said Chisholm to his watch-officer, "and I'll betcher we won't be acting rudder to this bunch going into port!"
"Hey, what's all that shootin' goin' on over there?" he called, waking up the entire outfit in his excitement. "Sheepmen," responded some sleeper briefly. "Cleanin' their guns, mebbe," suggested another, yawning. "Did you move 'em, Jeff?" "You betcher neck!" replied Creede promptly, "and I'm goin' back in the mornin', too."
"Monty, do you want me to brain you?" said Stewart, with the short, hard ring in his voice. "Now, considerin' the high class of my brains, I oughter be real careful to keep 'em," replied Monty. "You can betcher life, Gene, I ain't goin' to git in front of you. But I jest says Listen!" Stewart raised his dark face. Everybody listened. And everybody heard the rapid beat of a horse's hoofs.
He sat up. The passenger could see the thick, dark eyebrows draw together. "Why? Why anything? What would you do?" "Forget it." "Forget it. But can you? everything? No you betcher you can't. And it's every man to his own cure. Some I know get drunk and fight. And some I know who get drunk and cry. Some worry their friends to death, and some others beat their wives. Every man to his way.
"I say, hold on, my man," the correspondent called out to him. Bishop shot a hurried glance at him and pressed on. St. Vincent broke into a run till they were side by side again. "Is this the way " "To the benches of French Hill?" Del snapped him short. "Betcher your life. That's the way I'm headin'. So long."
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