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"Pretty tough," he observed sympathetically, and went back to his cigar. "So Cis'll have t' marry a movin'-picture actor," concluded Johnnie; " or a cowboy." At that the cigar fairly popped from One-Eye's countenance. "A cowboy!" he cried, the green eye dancing. "W'y, that'd be better'n a Prince!" "It would?" Johnnie considered the idea.
An amused expression shone in Eben's eyes as he turned them upon the face of the reclining man. "Something like a movin'-picture show, eh?" he queried. "A pretty girl, villains, an' hero all made to order. Ho, ho, that's a good one." "Seems so. And I guess he wants us to be the villains, Eben. Suppose we try it, boy. It'd be great fun, wouldn't it?"
It was when Timothy was unloading the trunk that Nancy found an opportunity to mutter low in his ear: "Don't you never say nothin' ter me again about leavin', Timothy Durgin. You couldn't HIRE me ter leave!" "Leave! I should say not," grinned the youth. "You couldn't drag me away. It'll be more fun here now, with that kid 'round, than movin'-picture shows, every day!"
Then the movin'-picture express, which was a retired switch-engine hooked onto a Swede observation car, backs down on Adolphus, and we was to rush up like pretty fast, and save his life. "She was a sassy little chicken with blond feathers and a three-quarter rig skirt.
Only that he'd a girl with him I'd have run him clean back to his reservation." "You want to get a movin'-picture layout," McHale suggested. "That'd make a right good show you runnin' Casey. You used to work for one of them outfits, didn't you?" "No. What makes you think I did?" "Your face looked sorter familiar to me," McHale replied.
"Well, I ain't never seen one," said Drusilla; and turned to the old ladies, who were waiting patiently to learn of their final disposal. "Do you want to go to a movin'-picture show?" "What's that?" came in chorus. "I don't know myself, but it's a sort of sort of " "Never mind what it is, we want to go." "Yes, let's go, Drusilla; let's not go home."
Now they tell me that they serve Welsh rabbits on Surf Avenue, and you get the right change back in the movin'-picture joints. "I sat down at one side of the old pavilion and looked at the surf spreadin' itself on the beach, and thought about the time me and Norah Flynn sat on that spot last summer. 'Twas before reform struck the island; and we was happy.
Makes a fella feel like he don't know where he's at with the town full of them movin'-picture actors." "Well, so long, Sweeney." And the traffic officer, a little afraid of being laughed at by the famous ex-officer, Sweeney Orcutt, departed, just a thousand dollars poorer than he might have been had he had the courage of his convictions. Overland and Orcutt exchanged glances.
Orcutt's glance rested meaningly, for an instant, on the Easterner at the table. Overland grinned. Orcutt spoke to the young Easterner, who immediately rose to his feet and bowed. "You was lookin' for somebody that's the real thing, you said. This here's my friend Jack Summers. He used to be sheriff of Abilene once. He ain't workin' for a movin'-picture outfit and he won't borrow your watch.
A bristle-bearded face confronted her. "No, it ain't much of a fire yet, but our hired girl she joined a movin'-picture outfit, so us two he-things are doin' the best we can chasin' a breakfast." And the tramp, Overland Red, ragged, unkempt, jocular, rose from his knees beside a tiny blaze. He pulled a bleak flop of felt from his tangled hair in an over-accentuated bow of welcome.
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