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Updated: May 26, 2025
And I want to say that Oscar was pretty much of a fool if he reckoned on snatching this boat away from an old fighter like you, when you had a nice new machine-gun to back up your claims." "Shucks! he showed the right stuff for a scrapper," expostulated the honest Perk, anxious to give credit where credit was due.
"Am I? Some of all that provender was for me, as I recall." They were still side by side on the sofa. Both were cross kneed, and the tip of her russet boot almost grazed that of his Oxford tie. He did not notice: he was already arranging the first paragraph of a letter to a friend in Winnebago, Wisconsin. "Dear Arthur: I called, as I said I was going to. She is a scrapper.
It was impossible to mistake my man; I could see him coming toward me as I waited just outside a sort of little restaurant called the Cafe Dame. As arranged, I bumped into him, grabbed his hat and jumped on it." He paused, raising his hand to his head reminiscently. "My man was a bit of a scrapper," he continued, "and he played hell.
And he had come there the next day, hurrying from school to be there first, and beating Cheese-Face by two minutes. The other boys said he was all right, and gave him advice, pointing out his faults as a scrapper and promising him victory if he carried out their instructions. The same boys gave Cheese-Face advice, too. How they had enjoyed the fight!
It was a great scrapper, and as it was a very undersized creature, he usually managed to obtain good odds from men who were backing larger and more powerfully developed specimens. What this sapper fed his gladiator on was a mystery; but it won many fights.
"He comes by that tough mug honestly. That's Jerry Durand." "The prize-fighter?" "Yep. Used to be. He's a gang leader in New York now. On his way back from the big fight in 'Frisco." "He was some scrapper," admitted the range-rider. "Almost won the championship once, didn't he?" "Lost on a foul. He always was a dirty fighter. I saw him the time he knocked out Reddy Moran."
"Jimminy, old fellow, you take it too hard!" said Lem, laughing. "All the fellows do is guy him, and we will see to it that they stop that, you can bank on it. Chance here and me will never see the kid abused. I am some scrapper myself, if it comes to that!" He pounded Lee cheerfully on the back and that young man smiled in spite of himself.
"Oh, don't!" said Slone, involuntarily. "Wal, it'll be better comin' from you an' me. Take my word fer thet. I'll prepare Lucy. An' she's as good a scrapper as Bostil, any day." "It all scares me," replied Slone. He did feel panicky, and that was from thoughts of what shame might befall Lucy. The cold sweat oozed out of every pore. What might not Bostil do? "Holley, I love the girl.
He thought he see his way to another half-a-sovereign out of you, M'riar, and that's what he come for. He thought I was safe for just the du-ration of a pipe or two." "What brought you back, Mo?" "Well, ye see, I heard his ugly voice out in the front bar, askin' for me. And I only thought he was a sporting c'rackter come to see what the old scrapper looked like in his old age.
Twenty minutes later we had a little reunion in the Purdy-Pell lib'ry. Robin was holdin' some cracked ice to a lump on his forehead, and Uncle Noah was sittin' uncomf'table on the edge of a big leather chair. "How cheery!" says I. "But take it from me, Uncle, you're some two-fisted scrapper! I didn't think it was in you."
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