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Updated: May 7, 2025
The red-headed Pinner boy got to Ms feet, hurled himself at the door handle. "Stop!" roared George, struggling with the stupefaction that gripped him. "Stop, you young devil!" The red-headed Pinner boy twisted the handle; was half through the door as George bounded for him. "Par-par!" screamed the flaming head, travelling at immense speed down the passage. "Par-par! It ain't a hairship.
He is the young hairship inventor who has a private sitting-room at the Colney Arms. Certain of them, agog to pry his secret, followed him as he set out one day. They discovered nothing. For hours they followed; but he, glancing ever over his shoulder, pounded steadily on, mile upon mile field, lane, high road, hill and dale.
"And the invention is in there?" "Right in there," George assured her. "You'll parding my asking, mister; but your saying you have to take it in the open hair is it one of them hairships, mister?" "Well, it is," George said frankly. This was a useful idea and he approved it. "It is. It's an airship." "Well, I never did!" Mrs. Pinner admired, gazing at the basket. "A hairship in there!"
The pitiful procession reached the sitting-room. "Sit down there," George commanded. "If you make a sound I shall probably cut your head clean off. What do you mean by hiding in my room?" Between gusty pain and terror: "I thought it was a hairship." "Oh!" George paced the room. What did the vile boy think now? "Oh, well, what do you think it is now?" "I believe it's the cat wot's in the piper."
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