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Updated: May 5, 2025
He buried her little hand in his big brown paw, a friendly smile beaming through the disfigurements of his bruised face. "He didn't do a thing to you, did he?" she commented, looking him over frankly. "Not a thing except run me through a sausage-grinder, drop me out of one of these aeroplanes, hammer my haid with a pile-driver, and jounce me up and down on a big pile of sharp rocks.
And we're making senators and governors and state officers and indeed, I may say, prominent citizens out of them. Why not give Hally her show? You damn cold-nosed Yankee Brahmins you have Faith and you have Hope, but you have no more Charity than a sausage-grinder."
I'd as soon turn a sausage-grinder as run a wheel that was 'fixed' in me favor." Bertha did not like this talk of his abandoned trade, and her cheeks burned as she put her hand on his shoulder. "I reckon we'd better be going." He recovered himself. "Of course I quit all that when I married," he explained, and dutifully rose. "Oh, Mrs. Haney," pleaded Mrs. Moss, "don't take him away!
Feel as if you'd been run through a sausage-grinder?" he asked cheerily. The man smiled faintly. "I'm all right, boss. The boys tell me you went back and saved me." "Sho! I just grabbed you and slung you in the cage. No trick at all, Tom. Now, don't you worry, boy. Just lie there in the hospital and rest easy. We're settling the bill, and there's a hundred plunks waiting you when you get well."
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