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Updated: June 14, 2025
Well, I guess you'll get your reward all right." Billy looked at her blankly. Reward! Gosh! Was that reward going to meet him again? "Say," said he frowning, "I want my own clothes. I don't want any new ones. I want my own! Say, I got some stuff in my pockets I don't wantta have monkeyed with!" "All right," she said cheerily, "They're put away safe. You can have them when you're well."
The waxen eyelids fluttered open, and a dart of something between fright and pain went over her weird little face. "Can I do anything for you Cherry?" Marilyn's voice was tender, pitiful. "It's too late," whispered the girl in a fierce little whisper, "Send 'em out I wantta tell you someth !" The voice trailed away weakly.
I wantta show you somethin'." "Aw, go to hell!" The sinewy hand moved again toward the aching muscles of the gunman. Collins changed his mind hurriedly. "All right. I'll come," he growled. Clay tossed a dollar down on the counter, took a .32, and aimed at the row of ducks sailing across the gallery pool. Each duck went down as it appeared.
"I wantta see the postmaster." "Corrid'y'right. Takel'vatorthir'doorleft," she said, just as though it were two words. The freckle-faced little fellow opened wider his skim-milk eyes and his weak mouth. "Come again, ma'am, please." "Corrid'y'right. Takel'vatorthir'doorleft," she repeated. "Next."
Then I got another thing, a magazine I always buy and keep on hand. It's called The House Lovely, an' it has all these grand gentlemen's places put down in pictures, with plans and everything. It's real handy when you wantta find out how to visit 'em sort of intimate like, and it kind of broadens yer mind. It's a real pity you never learned to read, Shorty.
"I understand," he drawled, "an' I'll be gormed ef I'll agree. I ain't told you yet where we get off, an' I don't have to ef I don't wantta. Ef you can't treat me like a gen'l'man you know where you can get off, an' I ain't havin' to state it."
He began drawling his words again, as he always did when he had got himself under control. "I suppose ye're insinuatin' ye don't like it here don't like what ye're pore ol' Father c'n do fur ye?" Her look of contempt would have cut short another man. "Ye wantta go?" he finished. She nodded mutely. And at that he flared at her terribly.
The officers pried Jerry loose from his victim with the greatest difficulty. He tried furiously to get at him, lunging from the men who were holding his arms. The puncher sank helplessly against the wall. "He's got all he can carry, Mr. Durand," one of the bluecoats said soothingly. "You don't wantta croak the little guy." The ex-prize-fighter returned to sanity.
Gumshoe Guy, but I wantta wise you that I'm hep to men. Doncha try to string me," she advised. Clay did not. It had occurred to him that she might give him information of value. There was something friendly and kindly about the humorous little mouth which parroted worldly wisdom so sagely and the jargon of criminals so readily. He told her the story of Kitty Mason.
Billy located her smooth old childish face at once and strode to the foot of the stairs peering up at the lady, white with pain from his contact with the butler, but alert now to the task before him: "Say, Miz Shaf't'n, I got yer jools, would ya mind takin' 'em right now? 'Cause I'm all in an' I wantta get home."
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