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Updated: June 20, 2025
That something is always wrong in a French post-chaise, upon first setting out. Or the proposition may stand thus: A French postilion has always to alight before he has got three hundred yards out of town. What's wrong now? Diable! a rope's broke! a knot has slipt! a staple's drawn! a bolt's to whittle! a tag, a rag, a jag, a strap, a buckle, or a buckle's tongue, want altering.
Curses on Conrad, and see what you have missed, Lena. I have tickets for a swell chowder party next Tuesday. Ah! farewell forever!" Then Simpson would walk out and hunt up one of those places that can't get an all-night license and there, with one arm glued tight around the bar rail, he would fasten his system to a jag which would last a week.
Curiously enough, it was the West Coast Trading Company that accorded him the opportunity he craved. Having massacred Cappy in the grape-stake deal and established an unlimited credit thereby, the West Coast Lumber Company, per Senor Felipe Luiz Almeida, alias Live Wire Luiz, decided to purchase a little jag of spruce from the Ricks Lumber & Logging Company.
Anyhow, the Dubokars are like the rest of us good, bad, and pretty mixed and the crowd back of Sweetwater belong to the last. At first, some of them didn't believe it was right to work horses, and made the women drag the plow; and they had one or two other habits that brought the police down on them. After that they've given no trouble, but they get on a jag of some kind now and then."
I don't know why, but it is. Where they get cloaks like that is a mystery. You see 'em on women panhandlers, on the old hags that camp on park benches, and in the jag line at police courts. But you never see a new one. Perhaps they're made special by second-hand shops for the female party trade. "Well?" says I, lookin' her over cold and curious. But you can't faze a female party so simple.
We had a great jag on our sleighs we had to draw fish to feed our dogs, fish for fuel and lights, and with our traps, guns sleeping bags and truck we had great loads. We reached Gnome without any serious accidents or over severe suffering sold our furs and felt fine over our grand success. Into the Unknown
Just outside the door Oldfield met Joseph. "Well, where is he?" he asked. "Mr. Oldfield, I tell you Mr. Chester has on a most awful jag, and he fell and almost split open his skull Tuesday morning, and I've had him over at the Barrett House ever since. The doctor has patched him up, but he ain't fit to be seen, not by ladies." "Pretty nervous, is he?" "Nervous!
Remember that I hold you in the hollow of my hand." "Let us have the story," said Henry. "But is the laborer worthy of his hire is there anything in it?" "Yes, ring the bell." "That's the stuff." "Flummers," some one remarked, a few moments later, "I don't think that I ever saw you drunk." Flummers tapped his forehead and replied: "The brain predominates the jag.
Every time a burro gets into the corn, an Indian master cuts off a bit of long, furry ear as a lesson. Before Jag Ear passed into kindlier hands he had been clipped closer than a Boston terrier. Only a single upstanding fragment remained in token of a graded education which had availed him nothing. "There's no curtailing Jag Ear's curiosity," said Jack. "To him, everything is worth trying.
In a second or two he was with me, flying three times round my head with a happy salute, as if saying, "Cheer up, old friend; you see I'm here, and all's well." Then he flew back to the shore, alighted on the topmost jag of a stranded iceberg, and began to nod and bow as though he were on one of his favorite boulders in the midst of a sunny Sierra cascade.
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