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"Aw, he's full o' hooch!" cried the spokesman with a loud guffaw. "He'll be gittin' a heluva lot less grub where he is. Say, are you guys goin' to be good sports or aincha? Red told me to invite the bunch over to camp fer a snort. C'm on over an' hev a drink on us an' cut out the shenanigans." "Now, that sounds pretty decent of you," approved Phil. "Wait till I see what the rest say."
Kent was a big man; that is to say, he was tall, well-muscled and active. But so was Manley. Kent tried the power of persuasion, leaving force as a last, doubtful result. In fifteen minutes or thereabouts he had succeeded in getting Manley outside the door, and there he balked. "Wha's matter wish you?" he complained, pulling back. "C'm on back 'n' have drink. Wha's wanna tell me?" "You wait.
They all entered, little Myra screaming for Rowland from the arms of a female member of the party, and were driven off. "C'm an wi' me," uttered the officer, rapping his prisoner on the head with his club and jerking him off his feet.
Kendrick, an' I goes to church reg'lar every damn Sunday, see. Y'r auntie'll be safer'n if she was at home; fer there aint no danger here o' gettin' knocked down by street-cars 'n' autermobiles. Now, fer Gawd's sake, c'm on an' eat." "All right," laughed Phil. "Toast's just done. An' while we eat perhaps you won't mind telling me why you think my uncle's a grafter." "Aw, nix, nix!
Runnin' horses is like playin' poker. Every feller fer himself an' mercy to-ward none! I knowed what it meant when I shook with yuh, young feller, and I hold ye to it. I hold ye to it! You lay low if I tell ye to lay low, and we'll make us a few dollars, mebby. C'm on and git that horse outa here b'fore somebuddy comes. It's mail day."
I can't satisfy you, anyhow." "There's some difference in making over the dog and playing him out. Come here, General Jackson." The animal rose and yapped, backing playfully away. "Don't you hear me? Come right here." The dog, sensitive to the growing menace in the voice, moved still further away. "C'm here, damn you," Gordon shot out.
While Angus, being in the power of the three hundred and sixty-fifth day, trotted demurely into the meshes of Fate. Fate was posing as another lad, a lad of charm and adventure. "C'm on, Ang," proposed Fate in nasal American; "Evans's chauffeur's havin' a rooster-fight in the garage. Hurry up c'm on lots of fun."
A watch chain dangled down in a parabolic loop. Then followed a round face, beef-red with stooping. It looked under apoplectically at us. "Ah, me b'yes, c'm on out o' there!" And out we came, dragged by the foot, one after the other, as I myself in my childhood have pulled frogs out from a hole in a brook-bank.
"G'-by," he said, and went to a distant corner, where he seated himself and stared out of the window, trying to imagine what he would do if he were Ovid Nixon, and what would make him appropriate three thousand dollars.... At twelve o'clock he lumbered over to the cigar case. "C'm on," he said. "Hain't got no time to waste." The girl put on her hat and they walked out together.
"I told you he wouldn't do any harm," the man repeated in irritated tones; "he will be with me most of the time, and not around the house. You're getting too cranky for living, Lettice." He set the dog upon his feet. "What I'll call him I don't know; he's as gritty as why, yes, I do, I'll call him General Jackson. C'm here, General." The dog still wavered slightly.
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