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Updated: June 29, 2025
Cookie complied, joining respectfully in the captain's mirth. "I guess you-all is got stronger haids den dat young gennelmun!" he remarked. "Dis yere ole niggah has help hissef mighty freely and dat Prohibititionist Miss Harding ain't eveh found it out. Fac' is, it am puffeckly harmless 'cept when de haid is weak." False, false Cookie! Black brother in perfidy to Mr. Tubbs!
Danny thought she liked it very much, for she went hurriedly into the pantry and brought back a cookie for him. The savoury smell of fried salmon, for it was near lunch time, increased Danny's interest in his surroundings, and his eyes were big with wonder when Mrs. Francis herself came in. "And is this little Daniel!" she cried rapturously. "So sweet; so innocent; so pure!
I believe that some of the others would drop the game, and be glad to get back on board, if they weren't afraid of Frenchy, as we call him. That man's mad as a hatter, sir." "That's a true word, cookie," growled Bob Hampton. "You smell good, mate, but I wish you'd keep your door shut. It makes me feel mut'nous, and as if I wanted to turn pirate and 'tack the galley."
What you-all doin'?" she demanded, eyeing Nora Wingate, who was making a sweater. "Crocheting, Julie. Knitting, perhaps you call it." "Uh-huh. My gran'ma kin beat you-all knittin'." "Yes?" smiled Nora. "You bet she kin. Why, whad you-all think? Gran'ma takes her knittin' ter bed with 'er and every now and then she throws out a sock. I'll bet a cookie you-all kain't knit like that-away."
"Well," said the Cookie Cook after a little thought, "I mean to go to this magician, anyhow, and tell him I want my dishpan. I wish I knew what Ugu the Shoemaker is like." "Then I'll show him to you," promised the King. "But do not be frightened. It won't be Ugu, remember, but only his image."
Some one had always to go during the night to put out the light, take the book from his hand, and the pipe from between his teeth. "For" Belfast used to say, irritated and complaining "some night, you stupid cookie, you'll swallow your ould clay, and we will have no cook."
"I says to myself the other day: 'I bet a cookie he'd like to be carefree and happy like me!" Homer was a piker, even when he made bets with himself. And the short of it was I sent a man that didn't hate children over to Bert's and kept Homer on the place here.
"I'm not," was the candid reply. "The Cookie Cook, and some others in the Yip Country, think because I am a big frog and talk and act like a man, that I must be very wise. I have learned more than a frog usually knows, it is true, but I am not yet so wise as I hope to become at some future time." The King nodded, and when he did so something squeaked in his chest.
"Poof!" grunted the Frogman scornfully; "I am greater than any wizard. Depend on me. If your dishpan is anywhere in the world I am sure to find it." "If you do not, my heart will be broken," declared the Cookie Cook in a sorrowful voice. For a while the Frogman walked on in silence. Then he asked: "Why do you attach so much importance to a dishpan?"
"Now, then," said Jones, as he took something reverently from an empty bunk, "who's going up fust?" "I ain't," said Tim. "Wot about you, cookie?" said Jones. "Well, wot about me?" demanded the other. "I thought p'r'aps you'd like to lead the way," said Mr. Jones, mildly. "You thought wrong, then," said the cook, shortly. "It was jist a compliment," urged Mr. Jones.
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