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Updated: July 15, 2025
"Lis'n onct mo'," he said. "Dat was Perkins I laid out." All was still. "Chunk," said Scoville, "go back on your tracks a little and see if there are any signs of alarm." Obedience was very prompt, for Chunk muttered as he ran, "My heart des bustin' 'bout Zany. Got ter lebe her now, sho! Ter thunk ob her showin' so much gumption!" Scoville again took Miss Lou's hands.
Their association was now one of some seven years' standing; and it seemed a grievous thing that, after posing so long as the patient butt of his rude humour, P.S. should have so suddenly turned and proved himself the better man and that not mentally alone. "Lis'n " George interjected of a sudden. P. Sybarite started. "Eh?" he enquired blankly.
Moriarty, of course, he 's loafin' in the store; lis'n him now, laughin' fit to break his neck at some of his own gosh foolishness. I'll shove your horses in the paddick. I say! ain't they fell-away awful?" "Yes; the season's telling on them. Now will you look after Pup, like a good chap? Here's his chain. I want to keep him fresh for travelling." "Right.
Confused in his sudden waking and thinking he was mobbed, he shouted through the window, "I'll shoot a dozen of yer ef yer don't clar out." "Marse Perkins, des you lis'n," rose in chorus from those far beyond the fear of mortal weapons. In the silence that followed the rushing wind bore down to them a weird, dismal howl that in Perkins's ears met every ghostly requirement.
"Hit's kind o' sort o' glor'us when yo' feels so quare an' cur'us, An' yo' don' know what it is yo' wants ter do; But I takes de chances on it 'at hit jes can't be injur'us When de whole endurin' natur tells yo' to! "Den wake up, niggah, see de sassafras in bloom! Lis'n how de sleepy wedder blow! An' de robin in de haw bush an' de young gal in de loom Is er-singin' so sof' an' low."
"Anyhow, they ain't goin' to trouble us no furder," rejoined Mosey complacently. "Theyre toes is turned up. Lis'n! that's the sound I like to hear!" The sound was the deep, heavy sough of a contented bullock, as he lay down with a couple of days' rations in his capacious first stomach. "Grass is generally a burning question with you teamsters," observed Willoughby.
Clinging to the supports of the stairway, he addressed Lanyard in accents of blended suspicion and respect. "Lis'n, boss: is this all right, on the level, now?" "Absolutely, unless that racing-car catches up with us, in which case you'll have a dead man myself on your hands." "Well ... we don't wanna lose our jobs, that's all." "You won't unless I lose my life." "Anything you'd like me to do?"
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