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I'll show the Metropolitan what opera is, and I'll give them and Sennier a knock out, or I'm only fit to run cinematograph shows, and take about fakes through the one night stands. But Claude's got to back me up. I don't sign any contract till every note in his score's in its place." "But you'll be in America when he finishes it." "That don't matter.
I could see it," said Luce sympathetically. "What do I care?" Dick called back, his face beaming. "The score's safe, isn't it?" Had it not been for the state of his knee Prescott would have been snatched up by a dozen hands and rushed across the field in triumph. But Mr. Luce waved them all back. Dick's father and mother came hurrying across the field to see what was wrong with their boy.
And the man was yelling all the time like the fans do at the baseball game when the score's a tie and the home team's heavy hitter slugs the ball on the left ear for a home run. And he was standing up pointing at Pa with a hand the size of a shovel, and all the rest of the bunch around us was getting restless and cacklin' furrin' talk.
Inquiries elicited the astounding fact that 'Curly' was none other than Newt Stone, pitcher and star batsman on our old class nine. I told him to hurry up and get you out. And so, for goodness' sake, Stone, get into the box and strike out some of those boys from Durham! The score's eight to eight now, and if they get that man on second in they'll have a good grip on the game and championship."
This done, he gathered his books, took up his hat and stepped from the platform. Footsteps sounded in the echoing corridor, and a flushed, perspiring face peered into the room. Then a boy of sixteen hurried up the aisle. "Mr. Stone, sir," he cried, "will you help us? It's the beginning of the sixth inning, and the score's eight to six in our favor.
And somehow Dangerfield looked a little bit queer himself, and he drank off two small glasses, such as folks then used in Ireland of Nantz; and setting down the glass, he mused 'A queer battle life is; ha, ha! Sturk laid low the wretched fool! Widow yes; children ay. Charles! Charles! if there be a reckoning after death, your score's an ugly one.
"If that inkpot of yours had hit me it would pretty well have knocked my brains out, and if I hadn't hit my elbow against the corner of the packing-case I would have had you shot through with holes like a sieve by now. So far the score's even. Let's chat a bit, and see if we can't come to some arrangement. Look, I'll show I trust you."
"We're a fine couple of fish," he said. Tom chuckled wryly. "Live fish, anyhow." "In my case, thanks to you," Bud said. "Forget it, pal. The score's about even, I should think," Tom said, recalling the many life-or-death adventures they had shared. Bud was thrilled to hear of Tom's electronic hydrolung.
You boys stop right ther'. If the old tree gets busy your ways it won't matter nothin'. Guess your score's overrun down at the saloon, but I lose that without a kick. You're too bright for me." He turned away, and, moving up the hill, took up a fresh position. Here he had a better view.
Score's face, as for one more chance. "Get out, you nasty trull!" said that lady, sternly, with arms akimbo; and poor Catherine, with a most piteous scream and outgush of tears, let go of the door-post and staggered away into the road. "Why, no yes no it is poor Catherine Hall, as I live!" said somebody, starting up, shoving aside Mrs.
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