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Updated: June 2, 2025
"Say, is youse fellers makin' this big talk or me? ain't yearnin', if any feller's lookin' fer glory." His challenge was received with a chorus of laughter. "You're doin' fine," cried the Kid. Ike favored the speaker with a contemptuous stare and returned to his work. He shrugged. "They ain't no account anyway, missie," he assured her, "guess they're sore.
It's the same for everybody, an' each feller gets busy makin' it different. The feller that gets chasin' trouble don't need to run. He only needs to set around and shout. Guess it'll come along if he's yearnin' for it. But it don't come on its own. That's sure as sure.
As that man read and prayed and spoke, that seamless dress seemed to float along by us, worn by the pityin' Christ, we laid holt on it with our yearnin' longin's and outreachin' sperits, and felt that strength had gone out of it into our souls. His prayer seemed to bring Heaven so near to us that we could almost look in. He asked the Lord to draw nigh to us, and He did.
She paused again, and the coroner, standing a trifle back of her chair, shook his head at the obstructive juryman, and asked her in a commonplace voice what the hogs had to do with it. "That's what I wanter know!" she cried, half turning in her chair to look up at him. "I started 'em, an' I be at the bottom o' it all, ef it's like I think, me, yearnin' ter look at the old witch-face!
Ther's fellers with minds like sinks, an' others with natures like rattlers. Neither of them things is as wholesome as a Sunday-school, I allow. Jeff ain't yearnin' to explore no sinks, human or any other. An' I've generally noticed his favorite pastime is killin' rattlers. So it's jest about the only thing to do quit this saloon, same as I'm goin' to do.
I was shorely born with a yearnin' for the level ground. An' so Grief moves his camp down on the river bottoms, where thar ain't no hills. "He's that mis'rable idle an' shiftless, this yere Grief is, that once he starts huntin' an' then decides he won't. Grief lays down by the aige of the branch, with his moccasins towards the water.
Here's a feller robs you in the meanest way a man ken be robbed, an' you're yearnin' to hand him more a low-down cur of a stage-robber, a cattle-thief, the lowest down bum ever created an' you'd hand over this pore innercent little kiddie to him. Was there ever sech a white-livered sucker?
An' when that's done, an' ther' ain't nuthin' in the world can come between us, why, then I sure got two mighty strong hands yearnin' to git busy handin' you those things which can make a woman's life easy, an' an' happy. Will you come, little Joan? Will you sure come?" His eager young face was close to hers, and his deep breath fanned her warm cheek. She gave him no verbal reply.
So long!" "Hold on!" George cried in alarm. "You ain't goin' to go dec decol low neck and all that? Cut it, kid: me and P.S. ain't got no dress soots, yunno." "Don't fret," returned Violet from the doorway. "I know how to pretty myself for my comp'ny, all right. Besides, you'll be at the back of the box and nobody'll know you exist. Me and Molly Leasing'll get all the yearnin' stares."
Bat's regard was unwavering before the other's angry eyes. "Sense is a hell of a good thing to have an' talk," he said quietly. "I most generally notice the feller yearnin' for someone else to get it an' talk that way, mostly has least use for the thing he's preachin'. Maybe Nancy feels the way you reckon. But that don't seem to me to worry a deal.
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