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Updated: May 6, 2025
That's all it cost." "Well, it ain't worth eleven hundred and fifty-five cents. You ought to know that. I don't get your idea. That stuff's deader'n Adam's cat!" "It might be worth something some day." "How?" "It mightn't be so dead not if we went into it," said Bibbs, coolly. "Oh!" Sheridan considered this musingly; then he said, "Who'd you buy it from?" "A broker Fansmith."
A yell from the basement called him back down to where Izzy was busily going through piles of crates and boxes stacked along one wall. He was pointing to a lead-foil-covered box. "Dope! And all that other stuff's ammunition!" He shivered, staring at the fortune in his hands. Then he grimaced and shoved the open can back in its case.
"Hm!" was the reply, the articulate profanity of which was lost in a cloud of the thickest, vilest tobacco smoke. "Ever seen a mining-camp when the stuff's given out?" "No; what does it look like?" "Like a heap of bloomin' peanut-shells chucked in a corner."
Their evil passions were all awake, and the plan, so long indefinite, developed like a photographer's plate. "That's one," said Thrackles. "One gone to hell." "And now the diamonds," muttered Pulz. "There's a ship upon the windward, a wreck upon the lee, Down on the coast of the high Barbare-e-e," roared Handy Solomon. "Damn it all, boys, it's the best night's work we ever did. The stuff's ours.
"Think you can cut it?" one of the audience asked. Mr Barelli smiled cheerlessly and didnt answer. Instead, he uprooted from his hip pocket a slender stone and began phlegmatically to caress the blade of the scythe with it. "Hay, that stuff's not goin to stop growin while you fool around." "Got to do things right," explained Mr Barelli gently.
"Wherever they may be," said gentleman Bennett, with a touch of irritability he was himself a sanguine man and disliked a mind fertile in objections "I suppose the stuff's in the Tower, isn't it?" "It goes in there, and I've never seen it come out, Mr. Bennett." Here at least a tone of confidence rang in the Sergeant's voice. "But where in the Tower, Sergeant?" "'Ow should I know?
"That I couldn't say, general," Emmett Pearson replied. "It'd have to be a shipyard job, and a lot of that stuff's clear outside my department. Ask Air-Commodore Hargreaves." "Les!" he called out. "Wake up, Les!" "Just a second, general." Hargreaves scribbled frantically on his pad. "Now," he said, raising his head. "What is it, sir?"
"Oh, before the Day of Judgment, sure: next year, I guess." "Next year?" Ralph flushed. "What earthly good will that do me?" "I don't say it's as pleasant as driving your best girl home by moonlight. But that's how it is. And the stuff's safe enough any way I've told you that right along." "But you've told me all along I could count on a rise before August. You knew I had to have the money now."
The Kling raised his hands in dismay; but leaning over the side, he secured the two pieces of durian before they were out of reach, and turned to his customers. "Good durian buteful durian," he exclaimed. "Alway smell so fashion." "What!" cried Bob, "do you mean to tell me that stuff's fit to eat?"
Trimmin's, an' fixin's, an' flowers, an' poetry, are all right, I suppose, fer some places, whar they live on sich things. But we want straight shot that'll reach the heart, and help us up the shinin' way. An' ye kin do it, lad; the stuff's thar, so let's have it. I'll round up the b'ys, an' they'll come." And so it was settled that the service should be held.
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