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Updated: May 14, 2025
"Go chase yourself," growled Mr. Bates, in infinite scorn. Ripley replied with a sudden volley of abuse, couched in the vilest of language, but to this Biff made no reply. He dropped his hands in his coat pockets, and, considering his work done, walked over to the wall and leaned against it, awaiting further developments.
I tried to get a stateroom, but nothing doing, so me for a berth with the common herd. Train going along fine, about 3 in the morning me pounding my fair young ear in lower six, when all of a sudden. Biff! Mr. Engine slaps a cow in the back and the whole works deserts the track and the caboose I'm in slides over the bank, turns over on her side and dies, lower six at the bottom.
Bobby let himself into the big new gymnasium and walked back through the deserted hall to the small room that was used for individual training. As he neared the door he could hear the sound of loud voices and the shuffling of feet, and heard the commanding voice of Biff Bates shout "Break!" The door was locked, but through the slide window at the side a strange tableau met his eyes.
They were in the congested down-town district now, and as they came to a dead stop at a crossing, Bobby, though immersed in thought, became aware of a short, thick-set man, who, standing at the very edge of the car, was apparently trying to stare him out of countenance. "Why, hello, Biff!" exclaimed Bobby. "Which way?" "Just waiting for a South Side trolley," explained Biff.
It was said that the most inferior English was sold under the name of American, the best of the American doing duty for medium quality English. I remember seeing a very ancient and poverty-stricken cow knocked down to a Birmingham dealer, who exclaimed exultingly as the hammer fell, "I'll make 'em some 'Merican biff in Brummagem this week."
You had the preacher by the collar, shakin' him, and once in awhile liftin' him clean off the ground on the toe of your boot; and you kept saying: 'A sober man, and a preacher and you'd marry that girl to a fellow like me! And then biff! And he'd let out a squawk. 'A drinkin', fightin', gamblin' son-of-a-gun like me, you swine! you'd tell him.
"Say, do you know I put that shrimp's hour a-purpose just when there wouldn't be a soul up there; and the next time I get him in front of me I'm going to let a few slip that'll jar him from the cellar to the attic; and the next time anybody sees him he'll be nothing but splints and court-plaster." "Biff," said Bobby severely, "you'll do nothing of the kind. You'll leave one Silas Trimmer to me.
"Reckon I'm feelin' as well as could be expected," replied Jim. His head was circled by a bandage that did not conceal the lump where he had been struck. Jim looked a little pale, but he was bright enough. "That was a hell of a biff Snell gave you, the skunk," I remarked with the same cheery assurance. "Russ, I ain't accusin' Snell," remonstrated Jim with eyes that made me thoughtful.
"I have refused everybody's advice so far, and have taken only my own. I have begun to believe that I am not the wisest person in the world; also I have come to believe that there are more ways to lose money than there are to make money; also I've found out that men are not the only gold-brick salesmen. Agnes, I'm what Biff Bates calls a 'Hick'!"
Biff had a copy of the Bulletin in his hand, which was sufficient explanation of his congratulations. "Things do seem to be turning out pretty lucky for me, Biff," Bobby confessed, and then, looking at Mr. Bates, he immediately apologized. "I beg pardon for calling you Biff," said he. "I should have said Mr. Bates." "Cut it!" growled Biff, looking himself over with some complacency nevertheless.
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