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Updated: May 8, 2025
Jimmy Holden had with him only his clothing and what was left of the wad of paper money from his father's cashbox still pinned to the inside of his shirt. This time Jimmy did not ride in style. Burlap sacks covered him when night fell; they dirtied his clothing and the bottom of the freight car scuffed his shoes.
"Me, that kicked my dunnage-bag down the fo'c's'le-hatch at fifteen years old? I'll show you whether I'm afraid or not." He knotted a hitch around the spokes of the wheel and scuffed hastily forward.
Three men scuffed by, sanding the decks. D'ri was leaning placidly over the big gun. He looked off at the white line, squinted knowingly, and spat over the bulwarks. Then he straightened up, tilting his hat to his right ear. "They 're p'intin' their guns," said a swabber. "Fust they know they'll git spit on," said D'ri, calmly.
Avery still gazed at the same knothole, but a hot flush was crawling up from under his collar. He took off his plug hat and scuffed his wrist across his steaming forehead. "I remember that he called her 'Ittikins, Pittikins, Popsy-sweet. Thought I'd die laughing at that trial! Did you sling in any names like that, Ivory?
He corrected himself, shifting to the past tense and glancing, as he did, at the chalk outline on the floor, now scuffed by many feet, and the dried bloodstains. "You say this puts Gresham in the clear?" "Absolutely," Rand assured him. "He was at home from nine twenty-two on." He introduced Pierre Jarrett, and explained their mission. "You find anything except what's here in the shop?"
Slowly he approached the mouth of the canyon, crossing a bare burnt space that looked like an old "wash." Suddenly he paused, staring. There, before him in the old wash, was the fresh trail of two burros and a man. The trail of the man was not well defined; rather scuffed in fact, as if he had been half dragged along.
Dat animile am a dumb beast shu'! Rubbin' dirt right inter clean cabbage! Sich muxin'! mux, mux, mux! Dat a coon? Dat ain't no coon. Dat's a mux!" And she scuffed off to the house, mumbling, "De muxinest thing I done evah seen." Hence his name. If there is one sweetmeat sweeter than all others to a coon, it is a frog.
I cannot believe, even cannot I fight. Worthless dreamer! My deserts. It's a good way out." "Boy." "Sai." "S'pose Mr. Forrester bym-by come, you talkee he, master no got, you chin-chin he come-back." "Can do." The long-coated boy scuffed away, across the chunam floor, and disappeared in the darkness.
"Gee, we had some fun, but we had an awful time, mostly," declared Billy, soberly. And he looked it. His flannel shirt was torn and faded, his trousers were patched with buckskin, his boots were scuffed through and resoled with rawhide, the knife in his belt had been ground down to half a blade, and his rifle was scarred and the stock spliced with rawhide at the grasp.
But the dime in his pocket was a reminder of last week's procrastinating failure. "Can't," said he finally. "Why?" "Got to work sell papers." Silvey stared, scarcely believing his ears. John scuffed the school walk with one sadly abused shoe. "You see," he went on reflectively, "I've got to have a thousand dollars by the time I'm twenty-one." "What for?" "Get married." "That girl again!"
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