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Updated: May 17, 2025
"How did the Wishbone make it?" he inquired. "I was just going to ask you if you knew," Kent replied, scowling because he saw Fred looking at Val in what he considered an impertinent manner. "My horse ran off while I was fighting fire here, so I'm afoot. I was waiting for Man to show up." "You'll git all of that you want he-he!" Polycarp cut in tactlessly. "Man won't git home t'-night not unless "
It seemed to him at least a month since he had had a glimpse of her, though it was no more than half that time. He watched her covertly while he came up the path. His mind, all the way over from the Wishbone, had been very clear and very decided.
Instead of riding as far as he might, and then walking across the prairie to the Wishbone, he intended to go on to town with them "to see her through with it." Val stood just inside the door of the hotel parlor and glanced swiftly around at the place of unpleasant memory.
"How wonderful it must be to be a wishbone!" But the room did not fill with candy. "That's another time the wish did not come true!" cried one child. "They never come true!" cried the other child as the broken wishbone was tossed in the coal scuttle. "Wishbones are just ordinary bones and do not make wishes come true!" And the children ran outside to romp and play.
“How do you feel now?” Aunt Polly Woodchuck asked Solomon Owl, when he had come back to her house after a week’s absence. “No better!” he groaned. “I still have pains. But they seem to have moved and scattered all over me.” “Good!” she exclaimed with a smile. “You are much better, though you didn’t know it. The wishbone is broken. You broke it by flying against the trees.
You've been living on your rep as a bad man to monkey with, and pushing out your wishbone over it for quite a spell, now why don't yuh get busy and collect another bunch uh admiration from these fellows? I ain't no lightning-shot man!
At Lilly's entrance, Isaac Neugass came shuffling around the ground-glass prescription partition, his hands at their perpetual dry washing of each other. There was something of a dressed-up wishbone about him, in the way his clothing scarcely suggested the thin body within them. They had scarcely a point of contact, even with his angles. He was a mere inner tubing to what he wore.
The Hamming-Bird, to him, looked as if she was in a fog. "Nonsense! Of course we will!" cried Mr. Damon. "Why, bless my wishbone! Tom, you don't mean to say you're going to let that little shrimp Andy Foger walk away with that ten-thousand-dollar prize without giving him a fight for it; are you?" This was just what Tom needed, and it seemed good to have Mr.
There was more than languor in her tone. "They're going to start the fireworks pretty quick," Kent mentally diagnosed the situation and rose hurriedly. "Well, I've got to hunt a horse, myself, and pull out for the Wishbone," he explained gratuitously. "Ought to've gone last night. Good-bye." He closed the door behind him and shrugged his shoulders. "Now they can fight it out," he told himself.
As he did so, the ghosts of the other turkeys long since eaten popped out of the thickets with a great flapping of wings, and each one perched upon a wishbone and gazed upon poor Donald, who was so frightened that his collar flew into a standing position, while he stood upon his toes, with his knees knocking together at a great rate.
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