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Updated: June 21, 2025
"Decidement je n'aime pas les autres," he would have said, to quote my son-in-law, Antoine Bibesco. His wife often said that, but for her, he would not have asked a creature inside the house; be this as it may, no host and hostess could have been more socially susceptible or given their guests a warmer welcome than Con and Hoppy Manners.
Hunchback Joe drew a short, ugly blackjack, a packet of papers, and a large roll of bills from his pocket, and tossed the articles into the trunk. "Lock it again!" he instructed tersely. Hoppy Meggs hesitated he was staring into the trunk. "Say, youse don't mean dat do youse?" he demanded heavily. "Not dem papers dat " Hunchback Joe's smile was not pleasant. "Lock the trunk!" he said curtly.
I fell in love with Peter Flower a brother of the late Lord Battersea and formed an attachment with a couple whose devotion and goodness to me for more than twenty years encouraged and embellished my glorious youth. Lord Manners, or "Hoppy," as we called him, was one of the few men I ever met whom the word "single-minded" described.
"Tell you one thing, Hoppy; we can get as far as Powers' old ranch house, an' that's shore," replied Red, thoughtfully. "Yes!" exploded his companion in scorn and pity. "That old sieve of a shack ain't good enough for me to die in, no matter what you think about it. Why, it's as full of holes as a stiff hat in a melee. Yo're on the wrong trail; think again." Mr.
Billy, grinning, turned and playfully punched him in the ribs. "Gettin' glory, Hoppy?" Hopalong raised his head and looked him steadily in the eyes; and Billy, losing his curiosity and the grin at the same instant, looked ahead, whistling softly. Copyright, 1911, by A. C. McClurg and Company. Reprinted by special permission of author and publisher. IX. Dey Ain't No Ghosts By Ellis Parker Butler
And then, as Hoppy Meggs closed down the lid: "I didn't bring you here to offer any advice; but as I don't want you to labour under the impression that, not having any brains of your own, there aren't, therefore, any brains at all to stand between you and the police, I'll tell you.
Johnny's suspicions left him with a rush, for his old Hoppy was one man in a thousand, and when he spoke like that, with such sharp decision, Johnny knew what it meant. Hopalong listened intently and when the short account was finished he put out his hand and smiled. "We're the fools, Kid; not you. There's something crooked going on in that canyon, an' I know it! But keep mum about what we think."
Connors grabbed frantically at his perforated sombrero and grew petulant and loquacious. "Both them shots was lucky, Hoppy; the feller that fired at me did it on the dead run; but that won't help us none if one of 'em connects with us. You gimme that Sharps got to show 'em that they're taking big chances crowding us this way." He took the heavy rifle and turned in the saddle.
What this great evil was, and what fate befalls other characters yet to be introduced, will presently be revealed, in shadow and by sunshine. The Slasher, the Schoolmaster, the Screech-Owl, Hoppy, and the other wretches whose misdeeds blacken these pages, form the foil; while Fleur-de-Marie, Clemence d'Harville, Miss Dimpleton, and Mrs.
Here, Hoppy; you take it." Hopalong turned the weapon over in his hand, spun the cylinder and gloated, the clicking sweet music to his ears. "Plumb full, too! I never reckoned I'd ever be so tickled over a snub-nosed gun like this but I feel like singing!" "An' I feel like dying," grunted Johnny, grabbing at his stomach.
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