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Updated: June 13, 2025
I write for the man that turns first to Mutt and Jeff, and then looks to see where they are running the new Charlie Chaplin release. When that man has to choose between 'our military correspondent' and the City Hall Reporter, he chooses me!" The third man was John, "Our Special Artist." John could write a news story, too, but it was the cartoons that had made him famous.
"Besides," says I, hurryin' the words to get 'em all out before any violent scene breaks loose, "knowin' all he does about them Mutt & Mudd checks, and with what he don't know about the case, it wouldn't be hardly safe to have him roamin' the streets, would it? Now I leave it to you."
"A mutt with a pink ulster and one of those pancakes on his head like the drivers of the gasoline carts wear," Bunch suggested. "It's him! it's the maleyfactor!" exclaimed Harmony, tightening his grip on the night stick; "which way did the derned cuss go?"
If, on the other hand, they were the obtuse, flat-footed persons who occasionally find their way into the ranks of even the most enlightened constabularies, they would undoubtedly shift the settee and drag him into a publicity from which his modest soul shrank. He was enchanted, therefore, a few moments later, to hear a gruff voice state that th' mutt had beaten it down th' fire-escape.
"Buck, he could sure talk, but Ranch, he wasn't much on chin-chin. Little an' dark an' quiet he was, an' jus' crazy fer dogs. Any old mutt'd do fer him jus' so's it was in the shape of a pup. He was fair wild fer 'em. He picked up a yeller cur out there the day after the Yangtsin fight, an' that there no-account, mangy, flea-bitten mutt had ter stay with us the whole time.
"'Yeh, he'll want fried potatoes all right, and postum, and left-over pumpkin pie. I have a picture of the big mutt in my mind now. "Constance," he'll say, "for pity's sake put more lard in the potatoes when you fry them. They are too dry. Take them back and cook them over." He will want his potatoes swimming in grease, he is bound to, that's just the kind of man he is.
"Because they've been raised that way," he replied to the last question. "Bill, old man, when you grow up, don't you ever become one of these fellows who can't walk two blocks without stopping three times to catch up with their breath. If you get like that mutt Dana Ferris you'll break my heart. And you're heading that way, poor kid." "What's Ferris?" "He's a man I met at dinner the other night.
She ain't a bad mutt," added the ardent swain. "I'm her steady." "Well, mind you send me a card for the wedding. And if two dollars would be a help " "Sure t'ing. T'anks, boss. You're all right." It had occurred to John that the less time Pugsy spent in the outer office during the next few days, the better.
You ain't soft on him, are you, account of what he done for that yellow mutt of yores?" "I owe him something," she evaded. "That dog I like that dog. And then that man treats me like a lady. It ain't every man treats me like a lady." "I should hope not," guffawed the amiable Bull. "Now that's a right funny joke," she assured him. "It almost makes me laugh. Still, alla same, I got feelin's.
Perhaps this is Spider Reilly?" "Nope," said the Kid. "I know the Spider. This ain't him. This is some other mutt." "Which other mutt in particular?" asked Smith. "Try and find out, Comrade Brady. You seem to be able to understand what he says. To me, personally, his remarks sound like the output of a gramophone with a hot potato in its mouth." "Says he's Jack Repetto," announced the interpreter.
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