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Updated: June 26, 2025
That fact gave the major part of the audience grim satisfaction. "There they go, now!" muttered Dave Darrin, in disgust. "Nothing is going to stop the big fellows!" "They're getting nearer our goal line," Dick admitted. "But a game is never won until it's finished. Cobber, as yet, hasn't even gotten the touchdown!" A minute later Cobber had. To the Gridley onlookers it sent a shock of dismay.
I didn't have much, but wot I had's now somebody else's. "'Yer a b fine cobber, you are, I says, 'Not to have choked 'em off. "'You've got ter thank me, anyway, fer not letting 'em put somethin' on yer which yer wouldn't care to let the world or yer missis, when you have one, gaze at. "An' that's how this lovely work in red and blue decorates me manly chest.
Get him away, cobber, get him away!" Gordon found Trench pacing up and down in front of the house, scowling up at it. But the ex-Marine smiled as he saw Bruce Gordon in uniform. "Good. At least some men are loyal. Had breakfast, Gordon?" Gordon shook his head, and realized suddenly that the decision seemed to have been taken out of his hands. They crossed the street and went down half a block.
A nice, clean kid just like my own boy was. But Murdoch wasn't like the rest of the neighborhood. He still called me 'sir, when my boy was walking across the street, so the lad wouldn't know they were sending me away. Oh well, that was a long time ago, cobber. A long time." He rubbed a pasty hand over his chin, shaking his head and wheezing heavily. Gordon chuckled. "Well, how ?"
One credit a week, and you get Mother Corey's word nobody busts in. And it sticks, cobber one way or the other." Gordon paid, and tossed his pouch on the filthy bed. With a little work, the place could be cleaned enough. He pulled the cards out of his pouch, trying to be casual.
But Mother Corey cut in, his voice older and hoarser, and the skin on his jowls even grayer than usual. "Don't sell them short, cobber. I did once.... You forget them, here, after a while. But they're around...." Bruce Gordon felt something run down his armpit, and a chill creep up his back.... Out on the street, a sudden whooping began, and he glanced down.
He felt the curious eyes of Mother Corey dancing from him to Izzy and back, and heard the old man's chuckle. "Put a uniform on some men and they begin to believe they're cops, eh, cobber?" He shoved up from the table abruptly and headed for his room, swearing to himself. Izzy was up first the next morning, urging them to hurry before things began to hum.
He was still wheezing asthmatically, but there seemed to be no change in the rhythm of his breathing. "As I was going to say, cobber," he said, "we've got a little social game going upstairs the room with the window. Fine view of the parades. We need a fourth." Gordon started to protest that he was tired and needed his sleep; then he shrugged.
"They won't do it before next year," Prescott staunchly retorted. Just then Cobber lost fifteen yards on penalty, and Gridley H.S. had the ball at the moment when it was sadly needed. "Band, four bars of 'Hot Time in the Old Town!" yelled Prescott through the big megaphone. The leader's baton fell like a flash. The band itself sharing in the excitement fairly ripped the air out in gallop time.
At its completion Cobber answered, as might have been expected, with cat calls. Within the next few minutes Dick ran the H.S. boosters through nearly the whole repertory of cheers and songs. Then, just after quarter of three, Dave made an important discovery. "Here come the teams," he whispered.
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