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Updated: June 26, 2025
"Big enough hole down there," he reported, swinging clear, and sitting with his feet in the shaft. "Regular cave. Three sacks of powder stowed already, so we're none too soon. One sack was leaky. I struck a match, and nearly blew myself to Casabianca." He paused, as if reflecting. "It gives us a plan, though. Rudie: are you game for something rather foolhardy?
It widened suddenly before him. In the small chamber of the mine, choked with the smell of stale betel, he bumped Heywood's elbow. "Some Fragrant Ones have been working here, I should say." The speaker patted the ground with quick palms, groping. "Phew! They've worked like steam. This explains old Wutz, and his broken arrow. I say, Rudie, feel about. I saw a coil of fuse lying somewhere.
"Those noises have stopped, down there," he said to Rudolph; and rising, gave his orders briefly. The coolies were to dig, strike into the sappers' tunnel, and report at once: "Chop-chop. Meantime, Rudie, let's take a holiday. We can smoke in the courtyard."
Rudie came forward, rubbing his hands together in the manner of clerks. "Something in shoes?" he politely inquired. Then he saw. "Ivy! ah Miss Keller!" he exclaimed. Then, awkwardly: "Well, how-do, Mr. Keller. I certainly am glad to see you both. How's the old town? What are you doing in Slatersville?" "Why Ivy " began Pa Keller, blunderingly. But Ivy clutched his arm with a warning hand.
So when Rudie announced that he would like to pull the pedler's whiskers, it was taken as a motion that he be removed to the reporters' quarters and made comfortable there, and the motion was carried unanimously. Was it not Christmas Eve? Little Abe was carried across Mulberry Street, sleeping soundly, and laid upon Rudie's cot.
Ivy went, looking the sacrificial lamb. Five minutes after the game was called she pointed one tapering white finger in the direction of the pitcher's mound. "Who's that?" she asked. "Pitcher," explained Papa Keller, laconically. Then, patiently: "He throws the ball." "Oh," said Ivy. "What did you say his name was?" "I didn't say. But it's Rudie Schlachweiler. The boys call him Dutch.
The second time that Rudie called, Ma Keller said: "Ivy, I don't like that ball player coming here to see you. The neighbors'll talk." The third time Rudie called, Pa Keller said: "What's that guy doing here again?" The fourth time Rudie called, Pa Keller and Ma Keller said, in unison: "This thing has got to stop." But it didn't. It had had too good a start.
For her there was nothing cryptic in a headline such as "Rudie Slams One Home"; and Do pfd followed by dotted lines and vulgar fractions were to her as easily translated as the Daily Hint From Paris. Hers was the photographic eye and the alert brain that can film a column or a page at a glance.
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