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Updated: June 24, 2025
The man eyed him with displeasure. "Fresh kid!" he observed disapprovingly. "Fade away," urged Master Maloney. The visitor's reply was to extend a hand and grasp Pugsy's left ear between a long finger and thumb. Since time began, small boys in every country have had but one answer for this action. Pugsy made it. He emitted a piercing squeal in which pain, fear, and resentment strove for supremacy.
He had only whistled a few bars of "My Little Irish Rose," and had barely got into the first page of his story of life on the prairie when Kid Brady appeared. The Kid, as was his habit when not in training, was smoking a big black cigar. Master Maloney eyed him admiringly. The Kid, unknown to that gentleman himself, was Pugsy's ideal.
Simple, I fancy? Yet brainy. Do you take me, Comrade Windsor?" Billy sat up, excited. "I believe you've hit it." Psmith shot his cuffs modestly. It was Pugsy Maloney who, on the following morning, brought to the office the gist of what is related in this chapter. Pugsy's version was, however, brief and unadorned, as was the way with his narratives.
Once he tripped, but recovered himself, and in another instant only the faint sound of his hurrying footsteps reached them. John had made a movement as if to follow, but the full meaning of Pugsy's words came upon him and he stopped. "Spider Reilly?" he said. "I guess it was Spider Reilly," said Pugsy, excitedly. "Dey called him Spider. I guess dey piped youse comin' in here.
The Kid, unknown to that gentleman himself, was Pugsy's ideal. He came from the Plains, and had, indeed, once actually been a cowboy; he was a coming champion; and he could smoke big black cigars. There was no trace of his official well-what-is-it-now? air about Pugsy as he laid down his book and prepared to converse. "Say, Mr. Smith around anywhere, Pugsy?" asked the Kid. "Naw, Mr. Brady.
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