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Updated: May 29, 2025
"You're joshin'," says I. Honest, I didn't think she meant it. She didn't say any more about it, and all the way home she was as quiet as a bale of hay. That was the last I see of Marjorie for near a week. Then, one afternoon as I was goin' through Tinpan Alley on an errand, I sees the Ellins carriage pull up, and out she comes. Now, say, I knew in a minute that wa'n't any place for Marjorie.
"You ain't joshin'?" "No. I'll hang it in the office." "Then she gets took immediate." Chance, who stood watching the two men, rose and wagged his tail. Chance never failed to recognize that note in his master's voice. It meant that his master was pleased, enthusiastic, happy, and Chance, loyal companion, found his happiness in that of his friends.
The girl's face became grave. She murmured to Harry, "Ever try praisin' to big stupid?" "Him? Are you joshin' me, Jessie? What's he ever done to be praised about?" "You watch!" said the girl. Growing excited with her idea, she called, "Say, Bull!" He lifted his head, but not his eyes.
"First time I ever know'd Tex to pack a grouch," he mused, as his lips drew into a grin. "He's sore 'cause the pilgrim hain't a-snifflin' an' a-carryin'-on an' tryin' to beg off. Gosh! If he turns out to be a reg'lar hand, an' steps up an' takes his medicine like a man, the joke'll be on Tex. The boys never will quit joshin' him an' he knows it. No wonder he's sore."
Robert addin' joshin' remarks; and we winds up by givin' the bride and groom three rousin' cheers and peltin' 'em with roses as they makes a run through the double line we forms. Yep, that was some weddin', if I do say it. And the sit-down luncheon I'd ordered at the Country Club in Mr. Robert's name wa'n't any skimpy affair, even though we did spring an extra number on 'em offhand.
You know about Whitey, don't you? Well, you've seen his name printed across the top of the sportin' page that he runs. And say, Whitey's the smooth boy, all right! Him and me used to do some great old joshin' when I was on the Sunday editor's door. "Hello, Whitey!" says I. "Who you been workin' for a swell feed now?" "That you, Torchy?" says he. "Why, I took your head for an exit light.
An' them joshin' 'n' guyin' me, an' me swallerin' it like a tenderfoot! . . . An' never did fer one of 'em!" The dog evidently considered it too preposterous for caudal comment; eyes and ears and nose were stretched toward the shore they were nearing. "Yah, she's thar all right, eh, Juno? Yer eyes is better'n mine but I bet I kin feel her thar. That's whar I git the bulge on yuh, ole woman."
"I don' know. It'll take a pretty good man to hold down this job." "Where is the job?" queried Sundown. Several of the men grinned, and Sundown, eager to be friendly, grinned in return. "Mebby you could hold it down," continued the cowboy. "But say, do you eat your own cookin'?" "Guess you're joshin' me." And the tramp's face expressed disappointment.
When he and Bob knocked Steelman's plans hell west and crooked after that yellow skunk George Doble betrayed me to Brad, the boy lost his boots in the brush. 'Course I said to get another pair at the store and charge 'em to me. I reckon he was havin' some fun joshin' you." The foreman was furious. He sputtered with the rage that boiled inside him.
"Shucks!" exclaimed Bailey; "that hoss would jest nacherally pitch you so high you wouldn't git back in time for the fall round-up, kid. He's bad." "Well, you said they wa'n't no job till fall, anyhow," said Pete. "Mebby I'd git back in time for a job." Bailey shook his head. "I was joshin' this mornin'." "'Bout my ridin' that hoss? Well, I ain't.
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