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Updated: June 23, 2025
"You fellows have a picnic here away back of the lines, while we chaps in the front line do all the work and stop all the bullets." "G'wan, you doughboys," retorted a gunner good-naturedly. "If we're alive here after eight days, the orders are to shoot us for loafing." A little further on, they came upon a myriad of tanks of all descriptions.
"I guess I'm what you would call a false alarm, Torchy. I've been tried out and haven't made good." "G'wan!" says I. "Everyone gets a lemon now and then. Some tries to swaller it whole, and chokes to death; others mixes 'em up with eggs and things, and knocks out a pie, with meringue on top. Draw us a map of how you fell off the scaffold." Well, I jollied the hard luck tale out of him.
"Say, that red-white-'n'-blue ribbon sure looks fierce on that green dress but I reckon blood will tell, even if it's Injun blood. G'wan, or you'll be late and have your trouble for your pay. But hurry back soon's the agony's over; the bread'll be ready to mix out."
"Might as well drive on," growled Al, punching the starter button again. "This Frenchman from Cork would spoil anything." "Aw g'wan!" muttered the abashed Michael Donahue. "Well, that chap was no guard, that is sure," Whistler said. They drove slowly on across the bridge.
The nearest riders abruptly ceased their chatter; they questioned one another mutely, doubting their own ears. Again came that thin, muffled wail, whereupon O'Reilly cried in astonishment: "Leslie! Why, it it's in YOUR BUNDLE!" He pointed to the formless roll of bedding which hung from his friend's saddle-horn. "G'wan! You're crazy!"
G'wan or I'll punch some of yer faces." "Drag him out, Collins," said Ranse. Curly took a slide and felt the ground rise up and collide with his shoulder blades. He got up and sat on the steps of the store shivering from outraged nerves, hugging his knees and sneering. Taylor lifted out a case of tobacco and wrenched off its top. Six cigarettes began to glow, bringing peace and forgiveness to Sam.
The spectators were mostly Irishmen, and it offended them to see what should have been a spirited fight so grossly bungled. "G'wan away home, ye quitters!" roared one. A second member of the audience alluded to them as "stiffs." It was evident that the besieging army was beginning to grow a little unpopular. More action was needed if they were to retain the esteem of Broster Street.
It came nearer and clearer until finally, as it reached a point near to the top of the stairway under which Joe was concealed, the latter could discern the fog-horn voice of the first assistant engineer. "G'wan with ye, now," he commanded, breathing heavily, as though from some violent physical exertion. "G'wan with ye, I say, or ye'll be findin' it mighty unhealthy fer ye.
Why, you poor fish there isn't any other man in the country who'd have had the common sense to do what you did to know that it would be a sensible move." "Some day, Eric," grinned Carroll, "I'm going to throw you down I'm going to flunk on a case. And then you'll say to my face what you must often have thought that I'm a lucky, old-maidish detective." "G'wan wid ye!
"Sure the Lieutenant'll niver be thinkin' to g'wan alone widout me?" and with all the Sergeant's respect for his superiors, it took the Lieutenant ten valuable minutes to get the man started back, shaking his head and muttering forebodings, to the camp. It was quiet riding on alone.
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