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Updated: June 14, 2025
'My word! we scooted pretty quick out of that piece of scenery, he said. 'I felt downright mad at your being let in for such a disgraceful bit of business. I hadn't time to tell you that I'd sacked those men half an hour before.
"But it was I who tracked down the defaulting directors of the Great Combined Amalgamation affair, and ran to earth that chap who murdered his ward away up in Northumberland, and found the Pembury absconding bank-manager who'd scooted off so cleverly that the detectives couldn't trace even a smile of him! Pretty stiff propositions, all those!
So he scurried town the tree-trunk and scampered to the stone wall, and scooted along the top of it. Old Mr. Crow was watching for him. And as before, he dropped down near the wall to talk. "I hardly expected to see you again," Mr. Crow remarked. "You couldn't have met the cat." "Yes!" said Frisky. "I met her. She followed me up a tree.
What pigeon-wings were performed! what polkas perpetrated! what waltzes wrecked! How the long lines of the Virginia Reel, or "On the Road to Boston," extended through the hall from end to end, and how the couples twisted, whirled, and scooted between them! How the call-man, with his violin under his chin, stopped playing to vociferate his orders, or anathematize some bewildered pair!
I laid awful still, thinking I wisht I was away from that town. Purty soon a squirrel comes down and sets on a log and watches me. I throwed an acorn at him, and he scooted up a tree quicker'n scatt. And then I wisht I hadn't scared him away, fur it looked like he knowed I was in trouble.
But you apologise, or you go!" He laughed his short thick laugh. "I am a man who hopes nothing, feels nothing, fears nothing, and believes nothing that you tell me!" I got up and went for him with my fists, and whether he feared nothing or not I don't know; but he scooted, dropping a yellow French novel, by one Catulle Mendes, that I could make neither head nor tail of.
But none had time to answer him. Kenneth scooted down the hall and thumped at the instructor's door. There was no answer and Kenneth unceremoniously shoved it open. The study was in darkness. "Mr. Bronson!" he cried. "Mr. Bronson!" There was no reply, and Kenneth recollected that very frequently Mr. Bronson spent Sunday night at his home.
For when a road leads into a house in America, it means a jail, or a courthouse, or a hotel, or a steel magnate's home or a department store. But when we scooted under the house we came into a wide white courtyard, gravel paved. We left the machine and went from the courtyard into a garden the loveliest old walled garden imaginable.
But I happened to think I could fool him, as I couldn't combat him, so I put on the crying record to make him think we were still in the library, and I scooted over to Gales' with the baby as fast as I could run. Then I came back " "Weren't you afraid of him?" asked Patty, shuddering at the thought of Azalea at the mercy of the infuriated man. "No; I know him, and he isn't a brute or a ruffian.
We were at the bottom. They'd have cut us to ribbons if we'd shown our carcasses in the open. Bruce was here, with a message he'd brought. The K.O. sent him back to headquarters for the reserves. The boche heavies and snipers and machine-guns all cut loose to stop him as he scooted up the hill. And a measly giant of a German police dog tried to kill him, too.
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