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Updated: May 21, 2025
"Professor," he said, when somewhat better, "I have come to ask you about a lady. A friend of mine has fallen in love with her, and he thought you might know of her." "Eh, wha-a-at, mon cher? I understands nozzin'. Ze lady, quel nom?" "Maraquito Gredos." "Espagnole," murmured Le Beau, shaking his wig. "Non. I do not know ze name. Dancers of Spain.
"What foolishness now, you young rough necker?" he demands. "You'll soon find out how foolish it is," says Ellery. "You're in the hands of the law." "Wha-a-at!" gasps Jake. "For such a little thing as that? It it can't be. Who says it of me?" "Isn't this your hat?" says I, handin' him the hail-proof kelly. "It is, eh? Then you're the one. Come on, now. Right up to the house."
"I can hardly realize it myself. Awfully bad case I had, you know. And now, while I have the courage, I suppose I'd best see her mother." "Wha-a-at?" says I, starin' at him. "I know," says he, "it isn't being done much nowadays, but somehow I think I ought. You know I haven't even met Mrs. Ull as yet."
"Wha-a-at!" exclaimed Edith, at the same time asking Arthur if he was hurt as he started suddenly, "There it goes. It was a BEE, I guess;" and Nina pointed to an insect flitting by, but so far from Arthur as to render a sting from the diminutive creature impossible.
"Wha-a-at!" "My dear Oliver, whatever my failings may be, I have some penetration. Mr. Billett was garrulous at times, I fear young men are so apt to be with older women. Oh no he was beautifully sure that he was not betraying himself the dear ostrich.
There's only Gladys, and we're just starting dinner. I want you both to join us." "Wha-a-at?" I gasps. "Lug Valentina in there!" "Most certainly," says he. "But see here, you big boob," says I, "have you got any idea how she's costumed?" He laughs. "Let's see," he goes on, "it ought to be a dark blue print with red polka dots. That used to be her Sunday dress."
What be ye, gittin' items for newspapers?" "No, Kun'l Ward, but I've got some news that I thought ye might like to hear before ye went past the toll-house this time. Intentions between Cap'n Aaron Sproul and Miss Jane Ward has been published." "Wha-a-at!" "They were married yistiddy." "Wha " The cry broke into inarticulateness. "The Cap'n ain't goin' to be toll-man after to-day.
"He he's the guy," says Hunk, "the very guy!" "Wha-a-at?" says I, followin' the look in them wide-set pop eyes of his. "Who is?" "Him," says he, pointin' to Cuyler. "He's a reg'lar guy, he is; the spit and image of what I been wantin' to connect with these last six months. Say, Shorty, put me next." "Gwan!" says I. "You ain't supposed to exist. Paint your funnels black and run the blockade."
"She's in the library, and we can't find out what is the matter." "Wha-a-at! Joey?" says I. It's a fact, though. I finds Joey slumped on a couch with her shoulders heavin'. She's doin' the sob act genuine and earnest. "Well, well!" says I. "Why the big weeps?" She looks up and sees who it is. "Torchy!" says she between sobs. "Dud-don't tell him. Please!" "Tell who?" says I.
"Oh, I have been watching you all the way," cried Marcus, "and pitying you." "What!" growled the old soldier. "You seemed so lame and in such pain. I don't know what has become of our chariot, but as that's gone you ought to be in one of the litters carried by the slaves." "Wha-a-at!" growled the old soldier, making the interjection as long in its utterance as half a dozen six-syllabled words.
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