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"Jerry the Rat!" he murmured; then to the man himself: "So, it's you, Jerry. Haven't seen you for two years." Through blear-eyes the little fellow surveyed Johnny for a second. "Johnny Thompson, de clean guy wot packs a wallop!" he exclaimed. "Dere dey go! We can get 'em!" He pointed down the alley. "Got a gun?" asked Johnny, standing a bit unsteadily. "Two of 'em. C'mon. We ken git de yeggs yit."
Besides papers there were two sixshooters and a bowie. These he did not take. When the safe was clean of papers Racey tied the mouth of the bran sack, took Molly by the hand, and blew out the candle. "C'mon," he said, shortly. "We'll be leavin' here now." Towing her behind him he led her to the window of the rear room. Holding his hat by the brim he shoved it out through the window.
It clearly promised a real fairy, an elfin bird, a wonderful messenger from the land I hungered to believe in. But at last my turn came. One afternoon two of the boys ran toward me, shouting: "Here it is, the little Fairy Bird, right in the garden over the honeysuckle. C'mon, quick!" I rushed to the place, more excited than I can tell.
Hand me that axe, and I'll make another try." "Stop yore fool lallygaggin'," Swing exclaimed, impatiently. "Let's have the whole sermon. Gawd, yo're worse'n a woman. Gab, gab, gab! Nothing but. C'mon, tie the string to the latch, and slam the door. This tooth has been aching a long, long while." "It's thisaway, Swing," Racey said, soberly.
"You can't go flirtin' round with any lantern in Tom's barn. First thing you know you'll set it afire. C'mon, Luke, pull yore freight." "But lookit here," protested Luke, "I lost something valuable, Red. I gotta find it." "It wasn't money then?" put in Racey. "Of course it was money," averred Luke. "You said 'it' this time, Luke." "It don't matter what I said.
"C'mon, Racey, come alive," urged Swing Tunstall, making a great business of shaking awake his drunken friend. "You don't wanna stay here no longer. I know a fine place where you can sleep it off." Ten minutes later Racey and Swing were sitting comfortably on a pile of hay in Tom Kane's new stable. Racey pulled off his boots, flopped down on the hay, and clasped his hands behind his head.
"It is and they are, but I couldn't get 'em off any other way, and I'll bet I won't be able to get another pair on inside a month. Lordy, man, did you ever think natural-born feet would swell like that?" "You better soak them awhile," said Jack Richie. "C'mon out to the kitchen." "Shore feels good," said Racey, when his swelled feet were immersed in a dishpan half full of tepid water.
Patrick noticed the orange glow of cigarettes on the opposite bank, but he couldn't see the faces behind them. He forgot about them when Sue pulled her T-shirt up over her head and stepped out of her jeans and underwear. "C'mon, Patrick." Her body was compact and tanned; one curve flowed naturally into the next.
And this third day, when it got too late in the afternoon to shoot even if the sun did show, he says to me, 'c'mon, hop up and let's take a ride down to the beach. So I hop to the back seat and off we start and on a ninety-foot paved boulevard what does Bert do but get caught in a jam? It was an ice wagon that finally bumped us over. I was shook up and scraped here and there.
He imagined a raucous voice, shouting: "C'mon here! Whatcher waitin' fer?" Jimmie bounced on to his machine and turned her loose!
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