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I'd remark, grabbin' him by the collar. "Whaddye think this is, a soap fact'ry? Leggo that shin-bone." "Gr-r-r-r!" he'd remark back, real hostile, and roll his eyes menacin'. At which Vee would snicker and observe: "Now isn't he the dearest thing to do that, Torchy? Do let him have his booful bone there. I'll spread a newspaper under it."
But what we got out of that pie-faced Nimms of Penrhyn's wasn't worth taking notes of. He's got a map about as full of expression as the south side of a squash, Nimms. A peanut-headed Cockney that Penrhyn found somewhere in London. "Sure I cawn't say, sir," says he, "where the mawster went to, sir. It was lawst Monday night 'e vanished, sir." "Whaddye mean, vanished?" says I.
"But you know a lot of these high-brows and aristocrats," he insists. "I don't. I don't get 'em at all. What brainy stunts or polite acts are they strongest for? How do they behave when they're among themselves?" "Why, sort of natural, I guess," says I. "Whaddye mean, natural?" demands Garvey. "For instance?"
"Bah!" says Old Hickory. "Whaddye mean, traitor?" "He's plotting to send confederates to Nunca Secos Key before we get there," says Rupert. "Plotting to steal our buried treasure. See! He was just sending a message to some of his gang." "Eh!" snorts Mr. Ellins. "A message?" Meyers fishes it out of his pocket and hands it over. "Huh!" says Old Hickory, puzzlin' it out. "'Advise how infant is doing.
Someone must do the family honors dinner, theatre, all that sort of thing. And if I were not tied up by an important committee meeting out at the country club I should be very glad to er " "Ye-e-es?" says I, glancin' at him suspicious. "You've guessed it, Torchy," says he. "I must leave them to you." "Whaddye mean, them?" says I. "I thought we was talking about Ambrose." "Oh, certainly," says Mr.
You got an eye for a tasty bit of colorin'. Eight rooms, bath, and kitchen. By the week in case we don't suit each other. Very choice and classy for a young married couple. Eight dollars, in advance. Prices for R. Noovo dwellings has riz." "We're not married," said the young man. "Hey? Whaddye mean, not married?" demanded that highly respectable institution, the Mordaunt Estate, severely.
Worth kept with me. It embarrassed me made me nervous. It was as though he had some notion of my purpose there. Hughes, at his lathe, caught sight of us and growled over his shoulder, "Yer machine's ready." This wouldn't do. I stepped to the door, with, "Fixed the radiator, did you?" "Sure. Whaddye think?"
He shakes hands like a dead fish. Whaddye think he had the nerve to say to me. 'This isn't the Mr. Tiernan of the second? he says. "'I'm the same, says I. "'Well, you don't look as savage as I thought you did, says he. Haw-haw! I felt like sayin', 'If you don't go way I'll give you a slight tap on the wrist. I'd like just one pass at a stiff like that up a dark alley." Tiernan was mocking Mr.
"This's my second bottle," he explained. "An' brandy in between. Say, I thought you knew all about the business." "I know enough about it now so that I've got to know the rest." "You you won't gimme away to the Chief? I didn't mean to show up his game. I'm I'm pretty strong for the old boy, myself." "I won't give you away. Go on." "Whaddye want to know, else?"
One or two gives him the merry hail and asks where the Class of 1910 is holdin' the banquet. He'd done nearly five blocks before a flatfoot steps out of a doorway and waves a nightstick at him. "Hey, whaddye mean, pullin' that hick stuff?" demands the cop. "Sir!" says Barry, wavin' him off dignified. Then I mixes in. "It's perfectly all right, officer," says I. "I know him."
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