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Updated: May 19, 2025
I want something wot's been used by you, and I've got a fancy for that as a keepsake." The second mate shook 'is 'ead. "I'm sorry, Bill," 'e says, gently, "but I couldn't let it go at that." "I'd sooner pay thirty shillin's than not 'ave it, sir," says Bill, 'umbly. "I gave a lot of money for that mattress," says the mate, ag'in. "I forgit 'ow much, but a lot.
And now you tell me this horrible thing. She bridled. 'Wot's 'orrible about it? You ought to be glad. Most men would be proud to marry a young lady 'oo's got such a light 'and for pastry, and can mend up an old pair o' pants to make 'em look like new. She's just the sort of wife "Wife," I interrupted, "marry"? What do you mean by those words, girl?
As if you didn't know. `Wot's up, governor? says I. `Things is a-going wrong with me, Billy, says he so he does. `T'other bloke been givin' you any jaw? says I, meaning you, says I. `Never mind, Billy, says he `you give me a good shine, says he, `and I won't mind the rest. And there, I did give he a proper shine. He's a gentleman, he is!" Jack Smith had still a friend.
He puffed at his cigar, blew out the match, and, after a moment, flung the charred end away but on his hand, as, palm outward, he raised it to take his glass, the match had traced a small black cross. The barkeeper put down the beer he had just drawn, wiped his hand hurriedly, and with sudden enthusiasm thrust it across the bar. "Glad to know youse, cull!" he exclaimed. "Wot's de lay?"
Then they stood embraced as they had embraced two days before, but no longer the same. For the cool, lazy Salomy Jane had been transformed into another woman a passionate, clinging savage. Perhaps something of her father's blood had surged within her at that supreme moment. The man stood erect and determined. "Wot's your name?" she whispered quickly.
"Oh, would he?" cried Rosemary, a bright colour flaming on her little soft cheeks. "Yes; and what's more," went on her hostess, warming to the subject, "you'd know 'im, the hinstant you clapped heyes on his fice, by 'eaven-sent hinstinct." "What's 'eaven-sent hinstinct?" demanded Rosemary. "The feelin' you 'ave in your 'eart for a father, wot's planted there by Providence," explained Jane.
Kybird in his shirt-sleeves appeared at the opening. "Wot's the row?" he demanded, his little black eyes glancing from one to the other. "Only a lovers' quarrel," replied Jack. "You go away; we don't want you." "Look 'ere, we don't want none o' your nonsense," said the shopkeeper, sharply; "and, wot's more, we won't 'ave it. Who put that rubbish on my counter?"
Wot's the use o' cryin' before ye're hurt, or pretendin' to know the futur' whin ye knows nothin' about it? Ye're no better than a baboon, Bunco, as I've fraiquintly had occasion to tell ye before now." Bunco made no reply to this, but smiled slightly as he changed his position to one of greater comfort, and lit a fresh cigarette.
A party had gone down to examine, but it would be weeks perhaps before they found it, and she must be prepared for the worst. She looked at them vaguely and with tearless eyes. "Then ye reckon dad's dead?" "We fear it." "Then wot's a-goin' to become o' me?" she said simply. They glanced again at each other. "Have you no friends in California?" said the elder man. "Nary one."
"Let's shake on it," he said. Billy took the proffered palm in his. "That's a go," he said; "but hadn't you better wise me to wot's doin'?" "Not now," said Theriere, "someone might overhear just as you did. Wait a bit until I have a better opportunity, and I'll tell you all there is to know.
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