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Updated: May 26, 2025
There, the leader of the "Jefferson Toughs" was trying to dispose of the last of his wares. "Let's have 'em all," said John. His rival gazed at him in amazement. "Quit your kiddin'," he ejaculated finally. "Honest 'n truth," John assured him. "Missed the paper wagon, and I've got to fix my customers, somehow."
Blount repeated his assertion, adding jocularly: "Perhaps you'd better call up headquarters and ask your boss if he wants you to kill the son of his boss." At this the gun-holder came around the fire to stand before his prisoner. "Say, pal this ain't my night for kiddin', and it hadn't ort to be your'n," he remarked grimly. "The boss didn't say you was to be rubbed out they never do.
Quit yer kiddin'. Me name is Lippe and mebbe I shoot it off a bit too frequent now and then, but you don't need to be afeered o' me peachin' to de udder'Bos." "I'm not afraid of that," continued Ned. "We don't care what you tell all the tramps this side of Kansas City. But we don't want you to print anything more about us in the Comet." Hardly a flush came on the tramp's face.
His face hardened. "But you come through, an' I'll see you git somethin' for the old woman. An' yoreself, too. What's more, you can stay aft an' wait on cabin. If they lay a finger on you, I'll lay a fist on them, an' worse." "You ain't kiddin' me?" "I don't kid, my lad. I don't waste time that way." Sandy stood up, his face lighting.
"Aw, quit yer kiddin'!" he said gruffly. "A century note fer me!" "Dat's wot I said! Youse heard me!" rejoined the Magpie shortly. "Only if it listens good to youse now, I don't want no squealin' after the divvy. I'm takin' de chances, youse has de soft end of it. One century note fer youse an' de rest is none of yer business! Dat's puttin' it straight, ain't it?
The way you went off in that plane with the girl made my hair stand on end, and that's no kiddin', neither. If you'd had a fear germ in your system you wouldn't 'a' done that. But you done it, and got away with it, is the point. And you been gittin' away with it right along and you not knowin' your motor any more'n I know ridin' on a horse!" "Aw, say!
"Quit your kidding," Lise reproved him. Mr. Tiernan suddenly looked very solemn: "Kidding, is it? Me kiddin' you? Give me a chance, that's all I'm asking. Where will you be, now?" "Is Frear wanted?" she demanded. Mr. Tiernan's expression changed. His nose seemed to become more pointed, his eyes to twinkle more merrily than ever. He didn't take the trouble, now, to conceal his admiration.
"Ah, can the kiddin', P.S. Come through! Whadja do?"
I could guess near enough how some of them scenes would show up: the bunch gatherin' in one of the little banquet rooms upstairs at Del's., and Bonnie surrounded three deep by admirin' males, perhaps kiddin' Ward McAllister over one shoulder and Freddie Gebhard whisperin' over the other; or after attendin' one of Patti's farewell concerts there would be a beefsteak and champagne supper somewhere uptown above Twenty-third Street and some wild sport would pull that act of drinking Bonnie's health out of her slipper.
"You'll admit, though, that there are some fine horses among these?" asked Pan earnestly. "Wal, Pan, to stop kiddin' you, now an' then a fellar sees a real hoss among them broomies. But shore them boys are the hard ones to ketch." The last of Blinky's remark forced Pan's observation upon the cardinally important point the lay of the land.
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