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But she merely said: "What time do we get to King's Cross, Dick?" "Ten-thirty on paper; but we're twenty minutes late already." "Then what'm I going to do then? Eleven o'clock, and me so tired!" "You'll be all right. I'll see that you are," said Dick.
"Rube," he called, "you gotter come along right now an' be interdooced ter Lord St. Olave. He's just pinin' ter know you." "Lord Saint Olave?" repeated Rube. "Gee! that's a mouthful! A lord, is he? I was guessin' he couldn't be no real frontier scout, spite of his outfit. Say, what'm I ter call him? Have I gotter say 'your highness, or 'your ex'lency, or what?"
I dunna like this shop, said Hazel tearfully. 'What'm they doing to 'im? Oh, they'm great beasts! Perhaps she had seen in her dim and childish way the everlasting tyranny of the material over the abstract; of bluster over nerves; strength over beauty; States over individuals; churches over souls; and fox-hunting squires over the creatures they honour with their attention.
Oh! rats, what'm I thinkin' about wake up, Gabe Perkiser, an' use your noodle like it was given to you to handle. To be sure that second plane is our own bus, with my pal handlin' the stick. An' I guess Oscar must a glimpsed him headin' this way, which made him reckon this wasn't the healthiest place in the country for a feller o' his size, so he skipped out pronto.
"Jeff," she said. "What'm?" "I have always meant when you were at liberty again " that seemed to her a tolerable euphemism "to turn in something toward your debt." "To the creditors?" Jeff supplied cheerfully. "Amabel, dear, I don't believe there are any little people suffering from my thievery. It's only the big people that wanted to be as rich as I did. Anne and Lydia are suffering in a way.
The officer leaned lethargically over the rail. "What'm I gonter do? Why, leave 'm. He ain't got no folks gonter sit up nights waitin' fer 'm. Now you young ones go along home to your suppers," he indulgently commanded, "and you little fellers, if you want crabs, be 'round here early. By to-morrow this place will be fairly swarmin' with them." From The Little Review
A sharp little sound from him. Miss Kate looked up, quickly. Chet Ball was staring at the beady-eyed yellow chicken in his hand. "What's this thing?" he demanded in a strange voice. Miss Kate answered him very quietly, trying to keep her own voice easy and natural. "That's a toy chicken, cut out of wood." "What'm I doin' with it?" "You've just finished painting it."
The dog pressed closer to him, still whining softly and licking the roughly caressing hands. "What'm I going to do, Chummie?" demanded Link brokenly. "What'm I going to do about it? I s'pose any other feller'd call me a fool like she thinks I am and tell me to sell you. If you was some dogs, that'd be all right. But not with YOU, Chum. Not with you.
Th' one bright spot your coming." "Was it?" she whispered. He staggered to his feet and walked rockily into the inner room. "No! What'm I saying. Man with a sweetheart doesn't want you." "Tony!" "No, no. 'Cos you're the worst devil of the lot. Decoyed me to this damn place." "Tony, I'm so sorry," her hand fell on his sleeve, but he drew away. "Don't come near me. Don't touch me.
A sharp little sound from him. Miss Kate looked up, quickly. Chet Ball was staring at the beady-eyed yellow chicken in his hand. "What's this thing?" he demanded in a strange voice. Miss Kate answered him very quietly, trying to keep her own voice easy and natural. "That's a toy chicken, cut out of wood." "What'm I doin' with it?" "You've just finished painting it."
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