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Updated: May 21, 2025
I hope it isn't a deep secret." "If it wa'n't," says I, "what would be the fun in tellin' it to you?" "Goody!" says Vee. "Who is the poor man who knew her once but doesn't any more?" "Whisper!" says I. "It's Mr. Bob Ellins!" "Wha-a-at!" gasps Vee. "Do you really mean it?"
"Simple as swearin' off taxes," says I. "Send him the sketch." Mr. Steele gasps. "Wha-a-at!" says he. "Why, I've been offered ten times what I paid for it, and refused; although there have been times when well, you understand. My dear McCabe, that little pencil drawing is much more to me than a fragment of genius. It stands for satisfaction. It's something that I own and he wants."
Sam Steele." "Wha-a-at?" says she. "Of all persons! And when did that start, I'd like to know?" "Eight years back," says I. "She was Katie the nurse, and this is their second act. Anyway, he ducks Bulgaroo by it." First place, Swifty Joe should have let the subject drop.
"Your wha-a-at?" insisted Tom. By this time light had begun to dawn upon the bronzed, athletic young engineer, but he preferred to pretend ignorance a little while longer. "Say, don't you carry the makings?" demanded the boy. "You'll have to be more explicit," Tom retorted. "Just what are you up to? What do you want anyway?"
"If you please, sir," says Peters, registerin' deep agitation, "might I have a word with you in er in private, sir?" "Nonsense, Peters," says Waldo. "Don't be mysterious about silly housekeeping trifles. What is it? Come, speak up, man." "As you like, sir," goes on Peters. "It it's about the laundress, sir. She's sitting on a man in the basement, sir." "Wha-a-at?" gasps Waldo.
I wonder if you've seen him around before, young Hammond?" "I beg pardon," says he, "but do you refer to Royce Hammond?" "That's the guy," says I. "Kind of a husky young hick, eh?" He stares at me cold and disapprovin'. "I am Royce Hammond!" says he. You could have bought me for a yesterday's rain check. "Wha-a-at!" says I, gawpin'. "You you are "
"Ah I should say football the mantle of victory will fall upon the shoulders of our ah representatives. I thank you." McTurkle bowed with gentle dignity. "What's his name?" cried a chap below. "McTurkle," answered Bud. "Wha-a-at?" "McTurkle!" "Cheer for McTurkey!" demanded the questioner. "A-a-aye!" cried the throng. Bud leaped to the top step. "Regular cheer, fellows, for McTurkle!" he cried.
Dave, who could not take his eyes from her pretty face, managed, somehow, to delay her. "Belle, there's something " he began. "Good gracious! Where? What?" she cried, looking about her keenly. "It's something I want to say must say," Dave went on with more of an effort than anyone but himself could guess. "Tell me, as we're going down the street," invited Belle. "Wha-a-at?" choked Dave.
"Young Mistuh Hollister I should say, Suh," says he. "Well, well!" says I, gawpin' at him. "You lookin' for Robin Hollister too? Why, so am I!" "Then we ought to find him between us, hadn't we?" says he, smilin' friendly. "Lott's my name, Suh." "Wha-a-at!" says I, grinnin' broad as the combination strikes me. "Not Uncle Noah Lott?"
"With mustard?" says I. "Heaps!" says she. Three minutes later I'm hurryin' back with both hands full, when I notices another taxi standin' out front. Then who should step out but this Ballard party, in a silk hat and a swell fur-lined overcoat. "Young man," says he, "haven't I seen you somewhere before?" "Uh-huh," says I. "I'm your private sec." "Wha-a-at?" says he. "My oh, yes! I remember.
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