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Updated: May 19, 2025
"I say, stranger," broke in Waller, in a tone of voice that seemed to imply that he was determined to be at the bottom of this mystery, and would stand it no longer "wot's your name?" "Theodore Bertram," replied the artist without hesitation. "Where do you come from?" "From England." "Where air you a-goin' to?" "To the Rocky Mountains." "Wot for to do there?"
It seemed that the speaker was a man of mark, for the noise ceased instantly; and, in the lull which ensued, a shrill scream broke from the wretched tailor. "Help! they're killing me! Ah-h-h-!" "Wot's the matter," roared the silencer of the riot, jumping from his berth, and scattering the Crow and his companions right and left. "Let him be, can't yer?"
Very well, por-tray it. When all's said and done you've only got a picture. And wot's a picture, if it's ever so lifelike? You 'aven't got a bit nearer to the real thing. I tell you, you aren't in it with me. I'd have been a writer myself if I'd thought it was good enough.
"'Ow 'orribly 'eavy it is, hain't it?" gasped Mivins, after dancing round the main-hatch till he was nearly exhausted. "Heavy?" cried Buzzby, whose appearance was such that you would have hesitated to say whether his breadth or length was greater, "heavy, d'ye say? It must be your sperrits wot's heavy, then, for I feel as light as a feather myself."
Jack Nugent's first idea on seeing a letter from his father asking him to meet him at Samson Wilks's was to send as impolite a refusal as a strong sense of undutifulness and a not inapt pen could arrange, but the united remonstrances of the Kybird family made him waver. "You go," said Mr. Kybird, solemnly; "take the advice of a man wot's seen life, and go.
While he was speaking there was a general movement among the lads and boys towards the class-room, for Miss Blythe was seen coming towards them. The two friends moved with the rest. Just as he was about to enter the door, Robin missed his companion, and, looking back, saw him bending down, and holding his sides as if in pain. "Wot's wrong now?" he inquired, returning to him. "Oh!
Perhaps you'll bring me luck as you did before. You shall take the pan. I will fill it and you shall wash it out. You'll be my MASCOT." She stiffened a little at this, and then said pertly, "Wot's that?" "My good fairy." She smiled again, this time with a new color in her pale face. "Maybe I am," she said, with sudden gravity.
'An' wot's more, 'e treats yer like one. I know 'oo give yer thet black eye; thet shows what 'e thinks of yer! An' serve yer bloomin' well right if 'e'd give yer one in both eyes! Mrs. Blakeston stood close in front of her, her heavy jaw protruded and the frown of her eyebrows dark and stern.
The action was, however, quickly noted by the driver, who promptly put his foot on the brake and pulled up. "Wot's up now?" he growled. Boyle did not reply, but ran back a few steps and began searching eagerly on the ground. "Lost suthin?" asked Foster. "Found something," said Boyle, picking up a small object. "Look at that!
"Hello, bo!" he observed cheerfully. "Didn't see yer. Did yer pipe me chase wid de yelper? Dat stilt-legged son of a saw-toothed tyke has had his nose on me rudder-post fer more'n a mile." The Persian made no answer, and the arab continued, unabashed: "It's a hunch dat I could 'a' clawed de stuffin's outer him, but I didn't want fer to lose me lunch. Say! Wot's yer name?"
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