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Updated: May 17, 2025
"And I shall have one worshipper, shan't I, Pudgie?" "Rather!" I replied. "Isn't it splendid!... Oh, need I go back just yet?" "Yes, you must go now; but I'll send for you again very soon.... You know I tried to do without you, Pudge; I tried for thirteen days, and it nearly killed me! That's past. I shan't try again. Now off you trot, my Pudgie "
At last the men started out over this pudge, stepping quickly from one piece of moving ice to another, until at last we reached firm footing again, though only by the exercise of considerable agility and looking sharply to where you went.
"I cannot," interrupted the captain then choked at a mental vision of Mrs. Pudge, who scorned such frivolous inventions as whalebone to support the figure then trumpeted behind his handkerchief, ending in that combined half-snort, half-giggle which is so disastrous to dignity and complexion, "I cannot allow the the er form of the Company's stewardesses to be so discussed."
He waited another half hour and began to be assailed by the pangs of hunger. The house gave no sign; even the smoke from the chimney stopped. He was sure Miss Eliot was still there; imagination pictured her weltering in her own gore. Between fear and curiosity and the saving hope that there might be food of some sort in the house, Pudge left his hiding place and began a stealthy approach.
He stepped closer, looking sharply down. A very fat boy with pink cheeks and a downcast expression was sitting on a fire-plug. Mr. Jaffry leaned out. "Pudge," he called, "come up here a minute." On the Remington and Evans stationery he penciled a note, which he sealed. Then he scribbled another to Mrs. George Remington, asking her to hand George the inclosure the moment he appeared from his work.
Kneeling, she bit at the cords which held Miss Eliot's wrists until they began to give. What Betty had done intelligently was nothing to what she had done without meaning it. She had been unkind to Pudge. Young Sheridan was in a condition which, according to his own way of looking at it, demanded the utmost kindness.
"Why, Pudge," cried Geneviève, "what on earth are you doing out at this time of night!" "I'm going home, I tell you!" muttered the boy, on the defensive. He carried a large bag of what seemed to be chocolate creams, from which he was eating. As he passed, a twinge of memory disturbed him. He fumbled in his pockets.
"Pudge Heffelfinger played the other guard from me in my last year and when he first appeared on the Yale field he was a ridiculous example of a raw-boned Westerner, being 6 feet 4 inches tall and weighing only about 178 pounds. During the season, however, the exercise and good food at the training table caused Heffelfinger to gain 25 pounds of solid bone, sinew and muscle.
Aye, thae may weel play th' Owd Hundred, divvleskin. Thae's made a funeral o' me this mornin'.... But, aw say, Pudge; th' next time at there's aught o' this sort agate again, aw wish thae'd be as good as keep that pow o' thine to thysel', wilto?
She jerked him toward the door, opened it, and as he was thrust through the door Pudge felt something, something warm, press impulsively against a cheek. Not until the door had closed upon him did he realize what Betty had done to him. He stood dazed for a moment unbalanced between impulses. Then the sturdy maleness of fourteen rewon its dominance.
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