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"Snap it up, old keed, or we'll all of us be late for lunch." They had just sat down to lunch and Peter was complaining that the whipped cream on the soup made him feel as if he were eating cotton-batting, when a servant materialized noiselessly beside Oliver's chair. "Telephone for you, Mr. Crowe. Western Union calling." Oliver jumped up with suspicious alacrity.
"Did a mule stray today from your corral?" she asked, filling his glass for him. "No," he said. "Are you sure?" "Dead certain. Why?" "Do you know one of the new muleteers named Braun?" "I know him by sight." "Keed!" she said, going up to him and placing both hands on his broad shoulders; "I play the carillon after the angelus.
He clustered his fingers to his lips and blew a kiss toward the ceiling. "She is the, what-you-say, fine li'l keed. She is the bon bébé! You no nev' see her before?" Barry shook his head. Ba'tiste went on. "You see M'sieu Thayer? Oui? You know heem?" "No." "You sure?" "Never saw him before." "So?" Batiste grinned and wagged a finger, "Ba'teese he like the truth, yes, oui.
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