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Updated: April 30, 2025
But when he saw a young man, calmly sitting in the machine and leveling a pistol at him, the man turned to run. Before he could make the corner of the cabin, a bullet through the leg brought him down in a sprawling fall. "What do you want!" he demanded sullenly, as the other stood over him. "I want to take you for a ride in my new machine," Winn answered. "Believe me, she is a loo-loo."
You lose, then. I never sleep. Tex, for the love of Mike, do look at Bill's face; and Bill, you look at Mr. Jim, from Texas! Guilty as charged! Your scheme, was it, Texas? And Shorty Bill, he told you so? Why, you poor toddling innocents, you won't never prosper as crooks! Your faces are too honest. "And that frame-up of yours oh, that was a loo-loo bird!
Ah loves mah Lulu, mah coal-black Lulu, There ain't nobody else loves loo-loo, Lu!" "Here shut that off!" cried the Shaggy Man, springing to his feet. "What do you mean by such impertinence?" "It's the latest popular song," declared the phonograph, speaking in a sulky tone of voice. "A popular song?" "Yes.
The Host brushed him off and said: "Your Stance was wrong; your Tee was too high; you raised the Left Shoulder; you were too rapid on the Come-Back; the Grip was all in the Left Hand; you looked up; you moved your Head at the top of the Stroke; you allowed the Left Knee to turn, and you stood ahead of the Ball. Otherwise, it was a Loo-Loo."
By the first ferry boat of the morning half a dozen San Francisco detectives arrived, and several hours later the secretary, in high excitement, erupted on Peter Winn. "It's come!" the secretary gasped, the sweat beading his forehead and his eyes bulging behind their glasses. "What has come?" Peter demanded. "It the the loo-loo bird." Then the financier understood.
The secretary was inclined to take the affair as a practical joke, but Peter Winn, after an examination of the pigeon, thought otherwise. "Look at it," he said, stroking and handling it. "See the length of the body and that elongated neck. A proper carrier. I doubt if I've ever seen a finer specimen. Powerfully winged and muscled. As our unknown correspondent remarked, she is a loo-loo.
But his face brightened and he said: "Sing for me, Glory. Let me hear your voice." The organ was playing a "coon song," and she sang the words of it. They were simple words, childish words, almost babyish, but full of tenderness and love. The little black boy could think of nothing but his Loo-loo.
In the night when he was sleeping he awoke and he was weeping, for he was always, always dreaming of his Loo-loo, his Loo-loo! When the song was finished they took hands and talked in whispers, though they were alone in the room now, and nobody could hear them. His white face was very bright, and her moist eyes were full of merriment.
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