Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: April 30, 2025
Then he drew his papers toward him again, and glanced seriously at the figures. "It's Nat's farm," he explained. "And it's the thing we've been waiting on years. We're getting it fixed right, and your Bud's just about as much help as a deaf mute at a talking bee. I hand him figgers, and and he smiles, just smiles. I hand him facts, and he keeps on smiling.
My word!" A happy chorus of laughter rang through the room as she returned to her seat, Bud's coming in great unrestrained gusts. They were like two irresponsible children rather than father and daughter. "Oh, dear. And you, too," laughed Nan. "We can't leave you out of the picture.
World's record great great!" Then it broke gradually through on Bud's dull mind. He slapped his leg again. "An' him his namesake he was cock-eyed, too I seed him onct at New 'Leens." "Don't you never trust a cock-eyed man, Bud. He'll flicker on you in the home-stretch. I've tried it an' it never fails. Love him, but don't trust him. The world is full of folks we oughter love, but not trust."
Lovin Child liked that better than being a bear, and sifted Bud's hair full of dried mud, and threw the rest on the floor, and frequently cried "Tell a worl'!" which he had learned from Bud and could say with the uncanny pertinency of a parrot. He had signified a desire to have Bud carry him along the wall, where some lovely lumps of dirt protruded temptingly over a bulging log.
Bud had him in a grip that widened the boy's eyes with something approaching fear. "Yes sir, Mr. Birnie, I'm sure. What didn't go to Crater stayed in camp or was gone on some other trip. No, I'm sure!" He jerked away with sudden indignation at Bud's disbelief. "Say! Do you think I'm bad enough to let my sister get into trouble with the Catrockers? I know they never got her.
"Nobody hurt much, which's shore some strange," he said. "The Kid young Fuller thet I was tellin' you about he was drinkin' an' losin'. Lost his nut, too, callin' Bud Marsh thet way. Bud's as straight at cards as any of 'em. Somebody grabbed Bud, who shot into the roof. An' Fuller's arm was knocked up. He only hit a greaser."
Slowly he did so, and Ted made him move to the center of the room. Bud's golden head appeared around the corner of the doorway. Ted could just distinguish it. "Who's that?" asked Bud. "It's Ted. Come in and strike a light. I've caught something." In a moment a light flared up. "Jack Farley!" exclaimed Ted, in astonishment. "Yes, blast you, Jack Farley," replied the youth.
The great sea of blue grass had been beaten and crushed by the hoofs of a considerable herd. There was no difficulty, and the pace he made was rapid. But, even so, Bud's keen eyes never left the well-defined trail. He was reading it with an understanding which might well have seemed almost superhuman. And as he rode he communicated odd fragments of his reading to the man behind him.
The white buttons on Bud's shirt-waist had been sewed on with black thread, and a spot of blood told where somebody's thumb had felt the sharp thrust of a needle. John Jay's trousers lay at the bottom of the pile, with a little round, puckered patch of calico on each knee. The tears came into Mammy's eyes as she saw the boy's poor attempt to help.
She was pale and her lips were compressed as if she were afraid to relax lest she burst out in tears or in a violent denunciation of some kind. Bud dared not look at her, nor at Lew, who sat glowering at Bud's right hand. He tried to eat, tried to swallow his coffee, and finally gave up the attempt and left the table.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking