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Then Benny bobs up, as usual. I has my eye peeled from the minute he opens the door. He don't look warlike or anything; but you never can tell about these fat men, so when he hits the gate I dodges behind the water cooler. "Wha w'ath the matter, thonny?" says he. "G'wan!" says I. "Ithn't Bob in?" says he. "Go on in and tell Mr.
Oh, he's cute, Benny is; but the bashfullest forty-four fat that ever carried a cane, a reg'lar Mr. Shy Ann kind of a duck. He has a lisp when he talks too, and that makes him seem cuter'n ever. About twice a week he drifts up to the brass gate and says to me, "Thay, thonny, whereth Bob?" Makes my mouth pucker up like I'd been suckin' a lemon, just to hear him.
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