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Updated: May 7, 2025
Suppose when some depositor asked mildly what day the accountants came, he smote that astonished inquirer on the nose, crying: "Slanderer! Mud-slinger!" and suppose he then resigned his position. Suppose no books were shown.
"I hate to see that sort of thing brought into the game. But they'll never find anything. The gentleman we are referring to works on noiseless rollers." Colonel Ramsay indicated the closed door by an almost imperceptible gesture of interrogation; and Rose replied by compressing her lips and shaking her head. "He isn't in on that; he's a gentleman, you know; not a mud-slinger."
For a moment he did not know whether to be relieved or dismayed at the prospect of Mrs. Condor for an enemy. How much would she really dare? He thought with a lowering anger of Flint. He had been ready to concede everything but this former friend in the rôle of a cheap and nasty gossip. No gossip was a pale, sickly term. Flint was a malignant toad, a nauseous mud-slinger, a deliberate liar.
"It's nothing but a skin door," replied the oil man. "But it's at the far side fronting that old mud-slinger. Did you ever see the beat of that? That stone must have weighed fifty pounds." But Jack Darrow noticed a certain fact. That was that the debris from the spouter was not shot so high as at first. Therefore, it was not being spread abroad so far.
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