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I shouldn't have cared so much about the chap's book, if he had said nothin' ag'in the rum. Why, Sir John, when the English bombarded Stunin'tun with eighteen pounders, I proposed to load our old twelve with a gallon out of the very same cask, for I do think it would have huv' the shot the best part of a mile!" But this digression is leading me from the narrative.
No man can be a 'abitchual reader huv the papers, Billy, vidout comin' to a bad hend." Mr. O'Fake drew from his pocket a copy of "The Daily Bazoo," and pointing at a certain paragraph, said: "Rade thot, Runty!" The queer little man stuck his fork under the tin plate and flipped it off the stove upon the floor, heedless of Mr. O'Fake's wishes.
And see if you can get me a couple of tickets on the next flight to Beta City. I'll be over in a couple of hours and pick her up." He cradled the phone and dialed the operator again. "I want the phone number of Skyline Tower 1024, Beta City, Mr. Alexander. Yes. I'll wait. This number is HUV 2-1278 and my name is Kennon, Dr. Jac Kennon 47M 26429. I called you before. No, I'm a transient.
"M' father uz down inside," continued the child. "He's sleep. We're goin' t' live on th' Ridge. D' y' know what a Ridge iz? We're goin' t' be waal-thy m' father says so. He says we won't have a thing t' do but sit toight an' whuttle un' sput, un' whuttle un' sput fur three years, then the com'ny wull huv t' pay us what he asks.
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