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He assumed that recollection of that titillation was preceded by a memory of his august but haggard restaurant-working father swaggering toward a second-hand reclining chair, telling him to scram, and seating himself with right foot resting on the left leg, thumping its smelliness into the air of what he always declared to be his home, his domain, like a judge with his gavel.
"You'll have a corpse on your hands in an hour," Feldman insisted. "I know space-stomach, damn it." The kid turned back to his lottery sheet. "Go treat yourself if you wanta play doctor. Go on, scram before I toss you out in the snow!" One of Feldman's white-knuckled hands reached for the attendant. Then he caught himself. He started to turn back, hesitated, and finally faced the kid again.
He smoked on awhile, and then added, "How did she look when you passed by yesterday?" "Oh, she took no great heed of me, ye may well fancy; but she looked well enough, far's I know. Just flashed her haughty eyes upon my poor scram body, and then let them go past me to what was yond, much as if I'd been no more than a leafless tree.
The call was not completed, because there was no answer. Operator was asked to ring a long time. Verify this. Don't take any hooey from the telephone company that it's against the rules. It's against the rules in this office for a reporter to come back without what he was sent to get. Scram. "Mac, you heard what I said to George. Go to the filling station I told him about.
This puzzled Boswellister, and he remarked in a voice that seemed overloud, "But who has glass insides?" The women giggled and turned away. The pitchman's scowl was a menace; his voice bitter: "Go on, scram. You queered my tip." Boswellister slipped away while the pitchman started to collect a new crowd.
Jimmy's eyes began to burn. He had no defense against this sarcasm. He wanted praise for having accomplished something, instead of raucous laughter. "I wrote it," he said lamely. "Oh, go away!" roared Jake. Jimmy reached for the check. "Scram," said Jake, shutting his laughter off instantly. "It's mine!" cried Jimmy. Jake paused, then laughed again. "Okay, smart kid. Take it and spend it!"
"Why can't you eat oysters in months that don't have R in them?" asked Rose-Ellen. "You could, if there wasn't a law against selling them. It's only a notion, like not turning your dress if you put it on wrong side out. Summer's when oysters lay eggs. You don't stop eating hens because they lay eggs, do you? But now scram, kids. I got work to do."
It may well be that hunting butterflies or dissecting rats are more suitable pursuits for young Percival Johnson than doing scram practice up against the playground wall. It may well be that it would be a far, far better thing for mob adoration to be laid at the feet of the composer of the winning Greek Iambic rather than at the cricketing boots of the Captain of the Eleven.
"There's sure to be some poor little scram reason for't staring us in the face all the while." He lowered his voice to a mysterious tone: "Neighbours, have ye noticed any sign of a scornful woman in his head, or suchlike?" "Not a glimmer of such a body. He's as clear as water yet." "And Dicky said he should never marry," cried Jimmy, "but live at home always along wi' mother and we!"
"Well, the word cead mile failte seemed to sthreck his heart, and the ould chap cocked his ear, and so I thought I'd give him another offer, and make him sinsible at last; and so says I, wanst more, quite slow, that he might understand, 'Parly voo frongsay, munseer? "'We, munseer, says he. "'Then lind me the loan of a gridiron, says I, 'and bad scram to you.
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