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"Yaw," said Hans, with a lazy yawn, "I pet me your life some folks peen plame fools enough to peen sdirring to-nighd. Dot makes me dired. Vy in dunder don'd dey gid in dere peds und sday dere, ain'd id?" "Oh, some people don't know enough for that," said Ned Gray. "And then there are people who are afraid to go to bed at this season of the year." "Vot vos dot? Afrait uf vot?" "Centipedes."
Seveeah continue my sala'y whilce I'm gone. no matteh the len'th. Me, I don' care, so long the sala'y continue, if that waugh las' ten yeah! You ah pe'haps goin' ad the ball to-nighd, Mistoo Itchlin? I dunno 'ow 'tis I suppose you'll be aztonizh' w'en I infawm you that ball wemine me of that battle of Wattaloo! Did you evva yeh those line' of Lawd By'on,
"Dot vas righdt," nodded Hans Dunnerwust, who was on hand. "I vos goin' to smoke cigarreds to-nighd dill I vos sick, und haf a pully dime." "Why doesn't Merriwell ever show up again?" asked Leslie Gage. "That's it," joined in Wat Snell, "why doesn't he come round and give a fellow a show to win back some of that money he won off us? Is he afraid?"
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