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Updated: June 7, 2025
"Why, the duck season isn't on yet, is it?" Custis asked the boy. "No, sir, but daddy saw a big raft of teal swingin' into the bend of the river yesterday and we got up before daylight and got a mess." "You brought 'em to me, John?" Robbie asked eagerly. "Jes the same, Robbie. Dad sent 'em to Colonel Lee."
He drove three blood coachers abreast and two lighter ones, Butterfly and Fairy, in the lead. Weren't them days! That great coach swingin' round the curves and sidlings in the dark, I fancy I can feel the reins between me fingers now! And there was always a lot of jolly fellows, and usedn't they to cheer me w'en the horses 'u'd play up a bit.
If he gets me, he must get me quick. Th' nex' night about dusk he come saunterin' up th' sthreet, swingin' his club an' jokin with his frind, whin some wan shouted, 'Look out, Clancy. He was not quick enough. He died face forward, with his hands on his belt; an' befure all th' wurruld Jack Carey come across th' sthreet, an' put another ball in his head.
Well, I'd been there over one payday and halfway to the next, when one mornin' about ten-thirty the door comes open with a bang, and in steps a husky young gent, swingin' one of these dinky, leather-covered canes, and lookin' like money from the mint. He didn't make any play to draw a card, same's they generally does; but steers straight for the brass gate, full tilt.
The sheriff looked only at the door. "Door's opened back flat against the wall, Mac," said the sheriff. "Was she like this when you ran into her?" "Course not," was the heated reply. "She was swingin' open." Racey squatted down on the floor. "Lookit here, Sheriff." The sheriff stooped and regarded the wooden wedge under the door that jammed it fast. Racey drew a finger across the top of the wedge.
"They never get near the colt. . . . He comes home alone with that big easy, swingin' gallop of his, 'n' goes under the wire still fightin' fur his head. "Then that crowd goes plumb crazy! Men throws their hats away, 'n' dances around, yellin' till they can't whisper! Miss Goodloe is shakin' so I has to hold her up. "'Isn't he grand?
And then the dog would change into a bow-legged policeman swingin' a night-stick threatenin'. All of which a barber friend of Henry's told him meant trouble in the pot and that he must beware of a false friend who came across the water. The barber got it straight from a dream book, and there must be something in it, for hadn't Henry been done out of $3 by a smooth talkin' guy from Staten Island?
For an hour or so we watched 'em feelin' for us, gettin' a bit nearer, reachin' and swingin', with the Agnes strainin' herself to slip away, but losin' a little of her lead every minute. Must have been near ten o'clock when Rupert announces cheerful: "By George! She's falling behind. Those searchlights are getting dimmer." "I believe you're right," says Old Hickory.
"On de Belt Line we don't reckon no horse wuth his keep 'less he kin switch de car off de track, run her round on de cobbles, an' dump her in ag'in ahead o' de truck what's blockin' him. Dere is a way o' swingin' yer quarters when de driver says, 'Yank her out, boys! dat takes a year to learn. Onct yer git onter it, youse kin yank a cable-car outer a manhole.
So what does I do?" "An' what does un do?" asked Dick. "What does I do? I keeps shallow water near th' shore an' holdin' my head betwixt ice an' water makes down t' th' Porcupine Rapids. 'Twere a long an' wearisome pull, an' thinks I, 'Tis too much un's done for now. After a time I sees light an' I goes for un. 'Twere a place near a rock where th' water swingin' around had kept th' ice thin.
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