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Thank you," said I, politely. "And your name is John Flint, or Percy, or Algy, just as I choose. Percy and Algy are rather unusual names for a gentleman who has been in the ring, don't you think?" "I think," he snarled, turned suddenly ferocious, "that I'm named what I dam' please to be named, and no squeals from skypilots about it, neither. Say! what you driving at, anyhow?
Not that I wouldn't like to know how the Sam Hill the like of you ever got nabbed by the skypilots." "God called me through affliction, my son." "Oh," said my son, blankly. "Huh! But I bet you the best crib ever cracked you were some peach of a boy before you got that 'S.O.S." "I was, like the young, the thoughtless young, a sinner."
"I never thought I'd be a-talkin' to one of you guys. What's your name?" "Douglas." He spoke shortly. "Ain't you got no handle to it?" "If you mean my Christian name, it's John." "Well, that sounds like a skypilot, all right. But you don't look like I s'posed they did." "Why not?" "I always s'posed skypilots was old and grouchy-like. You're a'most as good lookin' as our strong man."
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