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There was hunger and strain on his face, but an odd authority and pride now. "I'll be doggoned. Whyn't you say he was with Murdoch?" "They want someone to locate Ed Praeger and see about getting some food shipped in from outside, cobber," Mother Corey told him. "They got some money scraped together, but the hicks are doing no business with Marsport. You know Ed just tell him I sent you.
The law I don't count the fibble old law!" She sat brooding for a time, her face downcast. Then she spoke in a low voice: "Whyn't ye find out, Ben? What ails ye ter be so good-fur-nuthin'? Thar be other folks beside Con ez air law-breakers." She edged nearer to him, laying her hand on his arm. "Ye've got to find out, Ben," she said insistently.
A sulky-lipped sylph-figured girl two feet from him twitched medium cootch, he judged then fumbled in her belt-bag for a pill and popped it in her mouth. "Hell, the tickler's not even efficient yet about little things," Gusterson blatted, diving back into the privacy-yashmak he was sharing with Fay. "Whyn't that girl's doctor have the Moodmaster component of her tickler inject her with medicine?"
Whyn't you ask me to shake hands with your swell dame friend?" And Miss Heth, out in the crowded street, was heading toward Morland's with an adventurous resolution in her mind. It had needed but a touch to make up her mind here, whether she realized it or not; and this touch the girl Corinne had given her. Now, too, impulse met convenient opportunity.
You got all her boys in d'army, killin' 'em; whyn't yo' go and git kilt some yo'self, 'stidder ridin' 'bout heah tromplin' all over po' folk's chickens?" When the troop returned in the evening, she was still blowing; "blowin' fur Millindy to come home," she said, with more sharpness than before. But there must have been many Millindys, for horns were sounding all through the settlement.
The fire couldn't possibly spread." Paul looked proudly at the rain-soaked trees and wet soggy leaves which his forethought had saved from destruction and strode across the brook in his rubber boots, with the first installment of dry pine branches. "Aren't you tired?" he said protectingly to his companion. "Whyn't you sit down over there and undo the lunch-basket? I'll make camp.
Them that shouldered muskets an' fit an' lived on hard-tack don't want no more uv it." Westerfelt said nothing. "Hello thar!" The voice was from the buggy behind. Westerfelt turned. It was Frank Hansard with Jennie Wynn. "Hello!" replied Westerfelt, greatly relieved, "Whyn't you git down an' fight it out while we're waitin'?" jested Frank, in a low voice.
"Whyn't they go whar they knows deserters is?" he asked. "Where are they? We heard they had a cave down on the river, and we were going there," declared the boys. "Down on the river? a cave? Ain' no cave down thar, without it's below Rockett's mill; fur I've hunted and fished ev'y foot o' that river up an' down both sides, an' 'tain' a hole thar, big enough to hide a' ole hyah, I ain' know."
"Whyn't you make Johnson give you a mount once in a while?" "He says I ain't smart enough," was the sulky reply. Little Mose laughed. "He jus' pig-headed, thass all ail him! You like to git a reg'luh job ridin' faw a good man?" "Would I!" "Well, I knows a man whut wants a good boy. See that tree yondeh? That big one? Le's see who kin get there first!" "It it's pretty far, ain't it?" "Shucks!
Hyah, hyah, I ain't bin much on hol'in' de reins sence. "Sh! dey comin' in to wa'm up. Dat Jim, dat Jim, dat my boy; you nasty putrid little rascal. Des a hundred an' eight, suh, des a hundred an' eight. Yas, suh, dat's my Jim; I don't know whaih he gits his dev'ment at. "What's de mattah wid dat boy? Whyn't he hunch hisse'f up on dat saddle right?
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