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Updated: June 16, 2025
It hath cotht one automobile, theveral thkirtth, and a girl drowned. Thome cotht that, eh? Pleathe path the beanth." "Tommy has a keen appetite for beans this afternoon. Will you please open another can, Jane?" asked the guardian. "Certainly. Will you have them cold this time, Tommy?" "I will not, thank you. My father thayth there ith more real nourithhment in beanth than there ith in beeftheak.
"'I will, says the skipper. 'Stand up here, says he. 'All hands stand up! says he. "'Now, Liz, says he, 'can you cook? "'Fair t' middlin', says she. 'I won't lie. "''Twill do, says he. 'An' does you want t' get married t' this here dam' fool? "'An it pleathe you, says she. "'Shoos, says the skipper, 'will you let this woman do the cookin'?
"Don't you think they can?" demanded Tommy, squinting at him with one eye tightly closed. "Never saw one that could." "Then pleathe look at me." "By the way, Mr. McCarthy," called Mrs. Livingston, "did you mention the name of our new captain, the one who owns and sails the boat?" "That's so. I reckon I forgot that. He is known as Captain Bill. His real name, I believe, is Cummings."
Harriet sat down beside the unhappy little girl, slipping an arm about her waist. "It's all over now, honey. Don't cry." "I'm thick! Pleathe give me thome thome water." "Water," called Harriet. "Is there any? If not, let Mr. Janus get it, if he will." "If she can wait a few moments we'll all have some hot coffee," answered the guide. But Tommy could not wait.
"Will thomebody pleathe take off my thhoeth? If I bend down I'll thurely fall over on my nothe." There was a shout at this. Both Harriet and Jane knelt on the floor to remove the shoes that Tommy feared to unbutton.
Are you going to stop that screaming and do something for yourself, or are we to let you hang there until to-morrow morning?" continued Harriet. "Yeth, oh, yeth! I'll be good. I'll do whatever you tell me. But thave me. Pleathe thave me!" sobbed the unhappy little Tommy. "Stop clawing. Let your body hang limp. Don't make a move, and keep quiet. You confuse us.
The little girl looked at Georgie, and Georgie looked at her. There seemed to be no need of any further introduction. "I've got a cut on my thumb," said he. It was the first work of his first real knife, a savage triangular hack, and he esteemed it a most valuable possession. "I'm tho thorry!" she lisped. "Let me look pleathe."
One never knew how she was going to take a punishment or what she would do next. "Are you ready to be a little lady now? Want me to lift you out?" Both little arms were stretched joyously up to her, and a voice of angelic sweetness said coaxingly: "Pleathe, Tippy." The porringer was in Mrs. Triplett's hand when she leaned over the hamper to ask the question.
She had the impression that all the men had soft voices, large, embracing arms, gimlet eyes and bored, impersonal smiles. She knew they were taking her in. Their pleasant hoots and yells of greeting overcame her. "Oh, pleathe pleathe," she lisped.
You see, the fire was out, and the cook lighted it with kerosene, and she used such a lot something might of blew up." "And you knew that! You knew that two Petticoats might have been blown up " "Sure. Didn't you? Don't faint, pleathe!" Porgie Sproggins. Cave man. Brute. Hulking, enormous, shaggy-haired, prognathous jawed, a veritable Cro-magnard type. Bluely unshaven and scowling.
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