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Updated: June 14, 2025
Yer ears is allus skinned fer the whistle, ain't they an' eyes like a cat's, same as yer boss, eh? Yuh got to git some now, ole gal. Yuh ain't had a real run fer so long mebbe yuh're gittin' a bit seedy, like me. Well, yuh got a coupla miles right on yer tip-toes. Git goin', ole gal."
No question about it. At the swinging gate there was a girl-clerk who smiled up at him, flirtatiously. "Want to see the boss? He's busy for a coupla minutes." "All right," said Mr. Mix in an undertone. "I'll stay here and talk to you." "The nerve of some folks! Think I'm paid to listen to your line of hot air? Not 'till they double my salary. You go sit down and have a thought.
Dey's a coupla heroes wat's been to France; dey gets dem habits dere." The sensitive cow hand glared about him, but the leering toughs who echoed their spokesman's laughter were not safe to challenge. There were too many of them. De Launay stood alone and, to him as to the others, that little pointed mustache was a mark of affectation and effeminacy.
"Can I see you for a coupla minutes, A. A.?" he inquired, following the other to the door. "Certainly, Buck, as many minutes as you like." Buck discovered Randolph Fitts and Michael Malone seated before the fire. He drew back. "I'd like to see you outside," he said nervously. "Well, what is it?" asked Percival, stepping outside and closing the door. Buck led him around the corner of the hut.
And you can bet yore sweet young life I hailed them words with joy! What yuh done to 'im that he's sendin' yuh off down to Sinkhole? Me, I 'phoned in and much as told 'em he'd have to double my pay if he wanted me to stay down there any longer. That was a coupla days ago. Didn't git no satisfaction atall till to-day. Me, I'd ruther go to jail, twicet over, than stay here a week longer.
"We can't very well throw the Countess we got some of her outfit and, anyhow, we'd be about as handy around an invalid as a coupla cub bears. I think we'll bow out. But, Frenchy" the gambler spoke with intense earnestness "if ever we hear a kick from that gal we'll we'll foller you like a track. Won't we, Lucky?" "We'll foller him to hell!" Mr. Broad feelingly declared.
Captain thought you was Kitchell’s man, when he shoulda looked a little closer in a coupla other places." "But you were shot—by Kitchell’s men." "I was creased by th’ shotgun rider on th’ stage we tried to stop. Boys brought me in close to town an’ dumped me on th’ road—gave us a chance to make up another tale to fool Bayliss. Me, I’ve been ridin’ with Colonel Kitchell since ’64.
Make yourselves comfortable, and I'll have the Frau cut you up a coupla sandwiches. How'd you leave San Francisco? Pretty warm out there, ain't it?" He had, by this time, shooed them into the plush and crayon-enlargement parlor behind the barroom. His great voice overawed them and they were cold.
The little spaceman had come to like the straightforwardness of Roger. "That's right," said Loring. "When Mason and me loused up taking over the Annie Jones, that kid, Manning, was on the radar watch at the station. At the same time we were gonna crash into the station he crossed a coupla wires and was talking to his girl back on Earth! They think he fouled up the radar and caused the crash!"
But I'm sayin' it again we got the women. Your girl, for one! Now, how about throwin' in with me, you an' the professor?" "No," said Tommy. "In a coupla months, Rahn'll be runnin' this planet," said Jacaro blandly, "and I'm runnin' Rahn! I didn't know how easy the racket'd be, or I'd 've let Yugna alone. I'd 've come here first. Now get it!
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