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Updated: May 15, 2025
It isn't me I ask you to help. It's yourself. It's your aunt Susan. It's the whole concern. It's the commerce of your country. And we want you badly. I tell you straight, I know my limitations. You could take this place, you could make it go! I can see you at it looking rather sour. Woosh is the word, George." And he smiled endearingly.
Down went the eggs and down went the loaf of bread in generous slices, never forgetting a fair share for the cat. "Woosh! I feel better!" cried Red, "and now for some sleep." He swung up into the hay-loft, spread the blanket on the still fragrant old hay, and rolled himself up in a trice. "I did a good turn when I came on here," he mused.
"I believe he will." "George," he said, "if you pull this thing off Once or twice before you've stepped in with that sort of Woosh of yours " He left the sentence unfinished. "Give me that note-book," I said, "and tell me all you know. Where's the ship? Where's Pollack? And where's that telegram from? If that quap's to be got, I'll get it or bust.
"Aunt, I won't have any more soup. I won't really. It was delicious. Delicious, but really no more. Really. Aunt.... About the governesses there and being one of them. I wanted to say... Aunt, I don't want to be a pupil-teacher. Aunt..." Fr-r-r-r-rup! Frr-r-roosh! Woosh! Fr-r-r-roosh!
Just as the agonized Miss Patience was on the point of fainting, the little window at the back of the shanty was thrown open and two hens, like feathered comets, shot through it. Then the red face of the Captain appeared for an instant as he caught his breath with a "Woosh!" and dived back again.
It did our hearts good to hear those monster thirteen hundred and fifty pound "babies" coming over our heads with a "woosh" and landing in the lines across the way, on Hill 60, where they left marks like mine craters. We could put up with quite a lot just to see that, and although we were suffering considerably from the rifle grenades and the "Minnies," every one appeared to be in a good humor.
He saw the river was very near, the post to which the punt was tied not three yards away. With a wild yell, he sent the broom home into his antagonist's ribs. "Woosh!" he cried, as the resistance gave. "Oh! Gaw!" said Uncle Jim, going backward helplessly, and Mr. Polly thrust hard and abandoned the broom to the enemy's despairing clutch. Splash! Uncle Jim was in the water and Mr.
"No doubt," thought I, "a pill-vendor's wife...." Running through all my thoughts, surging out like a refrain, was my uncle's master-stroke, his admirable touch of praise: "Make it all slick and then make it go Woosh. I know you can! Oh! I KNOW you can!" Ewart as a moral influence was unsatisfactory.
"Come and change it, George," said my uncle, with sudden fervour "Come here and make a machine of it. You can. Make it all slick, and then make it woosh. I know you can. Oh! I know you can." I seem to remember very quick changes of mind after that lunch.
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