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Updated: June 9, 2025
Oh, I I hate you, Wiley Holman; and if you put my mother in jail I'll I'll come back and kill you, myself!" She stamped her foot angrily, but a light leapt into Wiley's eyes such as had flamed there when he had faced Stiff Neck George. "Very well," he said, "if you people think you can rough-house me I'll show you I can rough it, myself.
"What's been the rough-house?" inquired one of the policemen, mildly interested. "Do you know a sport of the name of Repetto?" enquired Smith. "Jack Repetto? Sure." "He belongs to the Three Points," said another intelligent officer, as one naming some fashionable club. "When next you see him," said Smith, "I should be obliged if you would use your authority to make him buy me a new hat.
The usual laugh was not forthcoming. No one dared. Men can't rough-house that kind of a woman. After a moment's silence the Critic spoke up. "You were right to read that story. It is not the sort of thing that lends itself to narrating. Of course you might have acted it out, but you were wise not to." "I can't help it got to say it," said the Journalist: "What a horrid woman!"
"By the way, you haven't heard anything lately from Jim Duff & Company?" "Not a word," Reade replied. "I don't believe we're yet through with Rough-house camp, however. They're waiting only until our suspicions are allayed. Once in a while we lose one of our workmen to the enemy, and then we have to discharge the poor fellow.
"Can't you be sensible?" she cried. "It's awful! I tell you it's awful!" But Bert was irrepressible. "Go it, old girl!" he encouraged. "You win! Me for you every time! Now's your chance! Swat! Oh! My! A peach! A peach!" "It's the biggest rough-house I ever saw," Billy confided to Saxon. "It sure takes the Micks to mix it. But what did that dude wanta do it for? That's what gets me.
"And this is where I come in with the missing details," he said. "Johnny Black did tell. He told my father. Wrote him from Levuka, before he came on to die at Peenoo-Peenee. My father had saved his life one rough-house night in Valparaiso. A Chink pearler, out of Thursday Island, prospecting for new grounds to the north of New Guinea, traded for the three spikes with a nigger.
You may have noticed it. A Protestant shuts his eyes and thinks hard about the money he's making or the automobile he's going to buy. A Catholic plays about with his beads and chatters all the time while he's thinking of religion. Protestants are scandalized when they see how Catholics make a sort of rough-house playground of their churches children playing on the floor during service even.
I suppose the architect of this place was one of those fellows who don't begin to appreciate air till it's thick enough to scoop chunks out with a spoon. It's an acquired taste, I guess, like Limburger cheese. And now, Pugsy, old scout, you had better beat it. There may be a rough-house here any minute now." Pugsy looked up, indignant. "Beat it?"
"We'll have to clean up this crowd, before it's over," Al was saying to his father. "Might as well start right in and git 'er over with." "And have it said the Lorrigans can't give a dance without having it end in rough-house!" Lance interrupted. "Cut out the idea of fighting that bunch. Keep them out of the house and away from the women, and let them have their booze down in the grove.
Your cow punchers said that when they hazed me, you know. But I certainly do object to any such rough-house business as fastening a poisoned thorn under a fellow's saddle." "That game has cost more than a few people their lives," Frank declared vehemently. "Cowmen draw the line at it. You noticed how angry old Hank became when he heard about that same thing.
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