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Tom's lip quivered as he looked wistfully at the clerk. "It's all right, sir. You just do what's c'rect, and you needn't mind anything. I ain't much account, but I do know that. I wouldn't stay another month, only there's reasons, you see, and places are easier to lose than find, 'specially when your last guv'nor makes a face with the corners of his lips down when any one asks for your character.
"Murder!" answered the detective. "That's one charge, anyhow for one of 'em, at any rate. There's others." "Murder's enough," responded the skipper. "Well, of course, nobody can tell a man to be a murderer by merely looking at his mug. Not at all! nobody! However, this here is how it is. Last night it were evening, to be c'rect dark. I was on the edge o' the fleet, out there off the Dogger.
A fairy tale to explain how-come your faithful cowboys to drap asleep and let the bunch stray. I reckon a little too much redeye in camp is the c'rect explanation." Yeager smiled, saying nothing. "And now I'm going to beat it for the hay again, Mr. Threewit. If you recollect, I told you some one was going to blow up pretty soon. Good-night."
A party who's goin' to make a pulpit-play, or shine in Arizona as a racontoor, has done got to cult'vate a direct, incisive style. "'That's all c'rect, remarks Texas, some savage, as he recovers his nose outen his glass; 'never you fret me none about my style not bein' incisive.
His name is Sam Cullison. And you needn't to tell me where he is. I'll find him." "I know you don't mean any harm to him." But she said it as if she were pleading with him. "C'rect. I don't. Can you tell me how to get to Soapy Stone's horse ranch from here, Miss London?" She laughed. Her doubts were vanishing like mist before the sunshine. "Good guess. At least he was there the last I heard."
"We must 'old on 'old on an' wait till the clouds roll by that was one of Bill's sayin's. An' to think of 'im bein' so near!" Tilda never laughed, but some mirth in her voice anticipated Bill's astonishment. "Now read me what yer've written." "It's no more than what you told me." "Never mind; let's 'ear if it's c'rect." Arthur Miles read
He drew Sanders to one side. "Trouble to-night, Dave, looks like. At Jackpot Number Three. We're in a layer of soft shale just above the oil-bearin' sand. Soon we'll know where we're at. Word has reached me that Doble means to rush the night tower and wreck the engine." "You'll stand his crowd off?" "You're whistlin'." "Sure your information is right?" "It's c'rect."
"Dug's payin' off to-day, boys," Russell told them. "You'll find him round to the Boston Emporium." The foreman settled first with Hart, after which he, turned to the page in his pocket notebook that held the account of Sanders. "You've drew one month's pay. That leaves you three months, less the week you've fooled away after the pinto." "C'rect," admitted Dave.
Knew mighty well I'd cut the heart out of the man who shot poor Shep." The voice of the cattle detective rang out in malignant triumph. "You guessed it c'rect, seh. Right here's where the Boone-Bellamy feud claims another victim." The men were sitting face to face, so close that their knees almost touched. As Norris jerked out his gun Bellamy caught his wrist.
Boy tramps, looking tired already "Wish ye luck, gentlemen"; fat sailors and mutilated colliers playing organs 'Twas in Trafalgar Bay, and Come Whoam to thee Childer and Me; tatterdemalions selling the C'rect Card-"on'y fourpence, and I've slep' out on the Downs last night, s'elp me" and all the ragged army of the maimed and the miserable who hang on the edge of a carnival.
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