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Updated: June 20, 2025
Bob always called me Arthur and made me call him Robert, though his nickname was "Shadder." When Bob said to come on to me, Mitch says, "Wait a minute, Skeet, I've somethin' to tell you." So I said to Bob, "Wait a minute, Robert," and Bob said, "You're comin' now or not at all." That made me mad, so I stood there. Bob went on and Mitch came up. "Let him go," said Mitch. "You don't care, do you?"
Mitch didn't say nothin'. He just set quiet, every now and then brushin' a tear out of his eye. When our pas had walked away, Mitch says: "Now you see the whole thing, Skeet. You've lost Tom as much as I have; but I've lost more'n you. I've lost Zueline. Both in the same summer. I don't know what I'm goin' to do. I want to go home." And then Mitch said: "I'm mad at my pa.
He led me straight across the big assembly room which was being trimmed for the ball. From the top of a stepladder, Skeet Thornhill yelled to us, "Where you two going? Come back here, and get on the job." She had a dozen noisy assistants. I waved at her from the further door as we ducked. Strange that honest, sound little thing should be own sister to the doll-faced vamp out there in the showcase.
So come along, and if we can't put you up here, we'll get the Widow Douglas to take you in. And maybe if I can get you to give up this treasure huntin', which ain't much after all, you'll want to join the gang I'm formin' that is if I really see that you and Skeet are the right kind. I sign myself, "Your Friend, "Tom Sawyer." "There," said Mitch "how's that?
Harry looked in the direction of the voice. He saw a tall, slender, black-haired man standing in the woods at the upper edge of the cleared space. He was dressed in butternut jeans, and looked so much like the Rebels in front that Harry thought he was one of them. The stranger noticed his indecision, and called out again still more peremptorily: "Skeet outen thar, I tell ye! Skeet outen thar!
"Nothing to go on in the way of a description of Clayte," I tried to help her out. "I'd call that one we had of him as near nothing as it well could be." "Yes, the nothingness of it was one of my facts," she said, and stopped. "Let's hear what you did get, Bobs," Worth prompted; and Skeet giggled, half under her breath, "Speech! Speech!"
The corpse'd spoil this kind of weather if we didn't." Then Keyser remembered, and it made him feel angry when he thought how the day had passed and left him still alive, and how he had made a fool of himself. So he said, "Well, you can just skeet around home agin with that ice; the corpse is not yet dead. You're a little too anxious, it strikes me.
"I think," the other twin backed her up virtuously, "with poor mother sick and all, you might respect her wishes. You know what she said about calling Ina a vamp." And Skeet drawled innocently, "That it hit too near the truth to be funny wasn't that it?" Through the open window had followed a half dozen more of the Blossom Festival crowd, Barbara and Bronson Vandeman among them.
A dozen great muslin strips were tacked over the walls there, and two small figures, desperate, smudged, wearing the blue overalls Skeet Thornhill had waved at us, toiled manfully smearing the blossom festival colors on in lettering and ornamental designs. "Ina!" Skeet yawped at her sister, "Another dirty, low Irish trick!
Suppose there should be a war again and you'd go, and be blown up so no one could know you, and they'd put you in a grave with no stone." "Ain't that what you want, Mitch?" "Yes, but you're different, Skeet. And besides, it's different dyin' natural and bein' buried by the Indians in a lovely place, and bein' killed like an animal and dumped with a lot of others and no stone.
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