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Updated: June 7, 2025
Holley pulled out a stubby black pipe and, filling and lighting it, he appeared to grow more thoughtful. "It wasn't only Lucy thet sent me up here to see you. Bostil had been pesterin' me fer days. But I kept fightin' shy of it till Lucy got hold of me." "Bostil sent you? Why?" "Reckon you can guess. He can't sleep, thinkin' about your red hoss. None of us ever seen Bostil have sich a bad case.
He's been pesterin' an' irritatin' about the post-office for mighty like an hour, when all at once he crosses over to the Red Light an' squar's up to the bar. He don't invite none of us to licker jest himse'f; which onp'liteness is shore received invidious. "'Gimme a cocktail, says this Signal person to the barkeep.
Macy near as much as Mrs. Macy wants to marry Mr. Dill. Mrs. Macy says he's pesterin' her to death, an' Mr. Dill says if it's pesterin' to speak when you're spoken to, he must buy a new dictionary an' learn the new meanin' of the words by heart. Between ourselves, I guess Mr. Dill is learnin' the lesson of wedded bliss from lookin' at Lucy an' rememberin' her mother.
He was in the country of the enemy, so to say. "Am I pesterin' her?" he demanded. "Can't I talk to a girl I knew when she was a baby? Have I got to get an O.K. from you before I say 'Good-mawnin' to her?" "Her father left June in my charge. I'm intendin' to see you let her alone. Get that straight." Houck gave up with a shrug of his big shoulders. He sat down and attacked the steak on his plate.
Dorgan appeared to be greatly flustered and in pain. His left arm was helpless from a wound in the shoulder, and from the fleshy part of it an arrow protruded. It probably had been less painful to leave it there than to pull it out. It was a home-made arrow. "What you shootin' at?" demanded Bill Jordan. "That infernal Injun," whined Dorgan. "He's bin pesterin' me; follerin' me like a shadow."
Lander went on, "that I should go into the Vonndome, for December and January, but just as likely as not he'd come pesterin' the'a, too, and I wouldn't go, now, if you was to give me the whole city of Boston. Why shouldn't we go to Florid?" When Mrs. Lander had once imagined the move, the nomadic impulse mounted irresistably in her.
But Bartley Coffin could not be restrained from lagging behind and whispering confidentially in Jack's ear: "If you want to be truly happy, mate, an' live clear of a life of pesterin', don't you never buy Sarah Libbie a satin dress! Minnie an' I have made it up, thanks to Willie Spence, but 'twas a tussle. I'd come to the jumpin'-off place." The statement was but too true.
'Fore he come, doctors en folks was trying ter fin' out 'bout me, en this Ma'tine 'lows he knows all 'bout me. Ef he wuzn't so orful glum, he'd be a good chap anuff, ef he is cur'ous. Hit's all a-changin' somehow, en yet' tisn't. Awhile ago nobody knowd 'bout me, en they wuz allus a- pesterin' of me with questions. En now Ma'tine en you 'low you know 'bout me, yet you ast questions jes' the same.
"Then Elsie and I will be going too, sorr. It's most uncomfortable they're making us Dutch and the rest. That Antoine and his army keep pesterin' us and callin' us Huns." "You raise a very interesting question, Flynn, a very delicate question of fact and propriety.
""Take your paws off that old butcher of your'n," returns this pesterin' Witherspoon, "an' I'll tell the story. But you've got to quit triflin' with that 'leven-inch knife ontil I'm plumb through, or I'll fool you up a lot an' jest won't tell it."
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