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Updated: May 29, 2025
Looks to me like a bolshevik anarchist or a panhandler." "Humph!" said Wilding, musingly. "He's nothing like that. Fact is, she's got a gold mine right there, and she wants to divorce it. Now, you're sure Louisiana did this and that he left the country? Ever hear what became of him?" "Nary a word," said the girl, indifferently.
He looked like a panhandler and talked like a scholar. Life had knocked him out and walked over him. There was no money in his pocket, no food in his stomach, no hope in his heart. He was asking for a job some kind of writing job. His hands were trembling and his face twitched. Despair underlay his words, but he kept it under.
Here lines would form to receive rations, the millionaire rubbing shoulders with the laborer. The panhandler got as much as the plutocrat. The disaster leveled all classes. A million dollars in one's pocket would have been of little use. Nothing could be bought with it and it could not serve as either food or drink. Getting Back to Work
Standish, no man does a thing like that to a stranger, or without some mighty motive. It is no business of mine to ask that motive or to horn in on your private affairs. And I don't care to. But, from your looks, you're no fool. You know, as well as I do, that that was no panhandler or even a highwayman.
"If I offend you, I can't help it. Won't you please let me let me lend you enough money to keep you going, till you get a good job? Please do! Of course, you can pay me, as soon as " "'I have not found such faith, no, not in Israel!" quoted Brice, a new note in his voice which somehow stirred the embarrassed girl's heart. "You have only my bare word that I'm not a panhandler or a crook.
About his once placid old eyes, which the hardened tear-ducts no longer seemed able to drain of their moisture, was a look of exultation that made the gathering street-crowd take him for a panhandler gone mad with hunger. "Yuh got who?" cried the indignant young officer, wheeling the bigger man about on his feet.
As Judson Green impressed these details upon the ragged vagrant's dazed understanding, he edged closer and closer to his man, ready to cut off any sudden attempt at flight. The precaution was entirely unnecessary. Perhaps it was because this particular panhandler had the honour of his profession in moments of confidence he might have told you, with some pride, that he was no thief.
Marcia Terroll was spared the hurt of knowing that the panhandler with whom she had divided the contents of her pocketbook, and whom she had thus enabled to buy five greatly desired glasses of beer, was the father of the man she loved. So, though Mary Burton did not know it, this was the way old Tom eked out the very scant pin-money she could spare him for his own method of drugging his sorrows.
The eye of Binkley fixed a young man at his table with the Bohemian gleam, which is a compound of the look of the Basilisk, the shine of a bubble of Würzburger, the inspiration of genius and the pleading of a panhandler. The young man sprang to his feet. "Hello, Bink, old boy!" he shouted. "Don't tell me you were going to pass our table. Join us unless you've another crowd on hand."
Obedient to the young woman's request, the panhandler waited. At her beck there came a stout person in a green coat and red trousers Italian soldiers wear these colours, or at least they often do at Coney Island and behind her free hand the young woman whispered in his ear.
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