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Updated: October 31, 2025
She was a lady." Jan was heading for the side door, the door which led into the alley. "Will I tell her you're comin' back, mister?" "Tell who?" "Why, that girl you was with." "Tell her nothing. Nor" Jan nodded his head toward the pool-room "him. Better go home. This is no place for a good boy like you."
Patrick cackled again, and his little twinkling eyes were half hid. "Ye may load me with jewels and goold, me lad, but divil a once do I allow a man wid a feet-lathe boring-machine to enter me head." "Ye have nothing to bore, ye old jackass! Divil a rock is left to prospect in so don't fuss." Bertha interjected a question. "Where did you find him?" "Marking up in a pool-room.
In a town like Chippewa, Wisconsin or in any other sort of town, for that matter a prosperous garage knows more about the scandals of the community than does a barber-shop, a dressmaker-by-the-day, or a pool-room habitue. It conceals more skeletons than the catacombs.
Wherever skilled workmen gathered together her announcement was discussed, and nowhere with greater interest than in her own home town. "Seems to me this thing may spread," said a thoughtful looking striker in Repetti's pool-room. "Looks to me as though we had started something that's going to be powerful hard to stop." "What makes you think it's going to spread?" asked another.
Friday evening Old Heck had met Dorsey in the pool-room. Judge Ivory handed over to the owner of the Quarter Circle KT the Y-Bar cattleman's check for ten thousand dollars and the bill of sale he had recklessly given and which transferred to Old Heck all the cattle the Vermejo rancher owned. Dorsey was game.
The next morning, Saturday, Old Heck came to the breakfast table again in a pensive mood. "I was thinking about that man Dorsey," Skinny remarked, observing Old Heck's mental depression and attributing it to the meeting the day before in the pool-room at Eagle Butte. "Do you reckon the filly can really beat that Thunderbolt horse?" "Of course she can," Old Heck answered. "Th' Ramblin' Kid knows.
With his arm around her, he had told her how young and pretty she still was, and how sad it made him when he thought he had ruined her life and brought her all these weary miles from home, his contrition being apparently so genuine, that she had determined to trust him once more, and would have told him so had she not gone into her room to change her dress, only to find that he had pawned the few remaining trinkets and articles of wearing-apparel she possessed, in order to try his luck in a neighboring pool-room.
At first it had not been so hard; but now he had put it off from day to day, dreading to tell her of his non-success, always hoping that surely to-morrow he must have good news, until fully a week elapsed in which he had not written. How troublesome a thing is pride to the poor. In the course of his wanderings he came across numbers of the old companions of his pool-room days.
"Keep back, y' sons-of-hell!" he snarled, "Sabota's gettin' what's coming to him!" The Greek's eyes opened. His fingers touched the butt of the Ramblin' Kid's revolver and began to close slowly over the handle of the weapon. "Make him quit," one of the pool-room loafers whined; "he's killed him!" The Ramblin' Kid saw Sabota reach for the gun.
"Go soak your shield," said Turpin. "Vivien knows how to take care of herself in a pool-room. She's not dropping anything on the ponies. There must be something queer going on here." "Nothing but Browning," said the captain. "Hear that?" "Thanatopsis by a nose," drawled the man at the telephone. "That's not Browning; that's Longfellow," said Turpin, who sometimes read books.
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