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Updated: June 8, 2025
You didn't have this in your pocket half an hour before it was lifted by one of the slickest poke-getters in the whole of little old New York." He was taking a letter from its envelope and opening out the sheet. "That's the kind of a crowd that's in on this, my bucko! Listen, and I'll read the letter.
"Mineself get you good ship, easy ship. No bucko, no hardtack, good pay, soft time, by Yimminy!" His mirthful humor abruptly vanished. He leaned towards me, and the lids of his little round eyes slowly lifted. It was like the lifting of curtains. For an instant I looked into the unplumbed abyss of the man's soul, and I felt the full impact of his ruthless, powerful mind.
I saw you last night staring through the transom. Watch your step, Flint. I'm telling you." "But if she should happen to take a fancy to me, who shall say no?" "Hate yourself, eh? There was liquor on your breath last night. Did you bring some aboard?" "What's that to you?" "It's a whole lot to me, my bucko to me and to the rest of the boys.
I glared back, my amazement struggling with the conviction that was oversweeping me; and then, just as I was about to speak, Bucko Lynch's voice came booming into my retreat. "Hey, you! D'you reckon to spell-o the whole afternoon? If you've finished your scouse, out on deck with you and lively about it!" There was no denying that request, eye or no eye.
Some fifteen minutes later, the boy Larry, stepping out of O'Rourke's, was swung to the wall in Soapy's grip. "Aw say, cheese it now! Is that you, Soapy?" "'S right, my bucko. Fork out that telegram quick!" "Aw, say, what yer mean 'n' say, Bud told me to hustle, 'n' say " "Dig it out quick!" said Soapy, the dangling cigarette glowing fiercely. "I want it see?"
He once threw a peavy handle into the Mississippi at St. Louis and standing on it, poled up to Brainerd, Minnesota. Paul was a "white water bucko" and rode water so rough it would tear an ordinary man in two to drink out of the river. Johnny Inkslinger was Paul's headquarters clerk. He invented bookkeeping about the time Paul invented logging.
"Well, Sam, you're on the job, I see," remarked Jack as the two craft ranged alongside and Sam cut off the engine. "Oh, I'm on the job all right," rejoined Sam, feeling much braver now that the other two had arrived, "have you got them all right?" "Right here in this bag, and some more in this, my bucko," chuckled Jack as he handed the two sacks over to Sam.
That's where ye'er wrong, me bucko. Th' war is not over till Cousin George stops fightin'. Th' Spanyards have had enough, but among thrue fightin' men it don't make anny diff'rence what th' feelin's iv th' la-ad undherneath may be. 'Tis whin th' man on top has had his fill iv fightin' that th' throuble's over, an' be the look iv things Cousin George has jus' begun to take tay.
You don't know your luck. And let me tell you one thing, my bold bucko: You'll do that just once too often. Now you mark." The day before the Weekly Examiner goes to press, Mr. Swope hands the editor a composition entitled: "A Card of Thanks," signed by John K. and Amelia M. Swope, and addressed to the firemen and all who showed by their many acts of kindness, and so forth and so on.
He wished he had left the women at Marseilles. "Say nothing to any one," he warned. "But if this man Picard comes aboard again, keep him there." "Yessir." "That'll be all." "What d' y' think?" asked Holleran, on the return to the Place des Palmiers, for the two were still hungry. "Think? There's a fight, bucko!" jubilantly. "These pleasure-boats sure become monotonous."
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