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Updated: June 21, 2025
There came another knock on the door and a voice asked: "Is Chet in here, Colonel? I generally find him with you when he isn't in my room and " Mr. Bland entered through the opened door, and from the figures of the detective and his helper the eyes of Chet's owner went to that of the motionless dog.
"We can cut over to the road, and get there quicker," remarked Andy, after a pause. "Suppose we do it. I don't want to get back too late." "All right," agreed Tom. "I want to write a couple of letters myself." "Oh, ho! Now who's got a girl?" demanded Chet, suspiciously. "Nobody, you amalgamated turnip. I'm going to write to dad, and settle this college business.
He took his arm from Spud's shoulder to point toward the great doors, beyond which was a rising clamor of shrill sound. "They will break in here soon; they would have been here before had they known of the old lost entrance of the priests that Anita and I found. We're as bad off as ever, I am afraid. There will be no holding them now." "I can hold some," said Chet, and touched his weapon.
"Goodness!" exclaimed Laura. "I shall be afraid of that. It's those old guns that nobody supposes are loaded, that are always going off and killing the innocent bystander. You ought to confiscate that gun, Chet." "Don't worry," returned her brother, laughing. "I've taken the trigger screw out of Purt's gun and he couldn't shoot it if he had forty cartridges in it.
I didn't want to speak of it but since you've brought it up: Chet Dashaway probably resents the fact that you got this new furniture down in the Cities instead of here. I didn't want to raise any objection at the time but After all, I make my money here and they naturally expect me to spend it here." "If Mr.
Every radiophone in the world must have echoed that sharp command; every television screen must have shown to a breathless audience the figure whose blond hair was awry, whose lean face was afire with protest, as Chet Bullard sprang forward with upraised hand. "You're wrong dead wrong! You're making a mistake. I can't accept that!" The master pilot's voice was raised in earnest protest.
"There's air here," Chet was telling his companion later; "air of a sort, but it's no good to us." He pointed to the spectro-analyzer with its groupings of lines and light bands. "Carbon dioxide," he explained, "and some nitrogen, but mighty little of either. See the pressure gage; it's way down. "But that won't bother us too much.
Dear funny old Debbie won't Chet and I have a picnic to-night?" And as she had predicted, they did have the time of their lives. Chet refused to sit in the dining-room in lonely state, and in masterly fashion invaded the kitchen. "Say, that smells good, Billie, old girl," and he sniffed hungrily at the stew. "Give me an apron and I'll help."
Don't you know," as Chet started and looked reproachfully at her, "that you are apt to ruin the table? And it's almost a brand new one at that." "Well, you needn't scare a fellow to death," grumbled Chet. "I thought I'd stepped on the cat." But he obeyed instructions. "My! but doesn't everything look good?" cried Billie, sniffing hungrily.
Then, with the body of Spud held tightly, he sprang where Anita had gone. She was waiting, but gave Chet no chance to question her. "Come!" she commanded again, and ran on as before. But, as Chet gained her side, she offered between gasping breaths an explanation.
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