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It looked like a hopeless hunt, too, until I runs across this invitation card announcin' that the Misses Pulsifer will be at home from two-fifteen until five-thirty. There's a Fort Washington Road address, and down in one corner it says "music." Also to-day's the day. "Whoop!" says I, stowin' away the card. "Me for the Misses Pulsifers' on a long shot. Hey, Mr. Ellins!"
Well, after stowin' away his little jolt, he comes fussin' around among the boys, askin' which one of 'em is Mr. Robert McGraw. Of course he didn't get no information, an' wouldn't 'a got it if the boys had it.
Slowly Grump's hand emerged from beneath the Pet's head, and with it came a leather bag containing gold dust. The colonel drew a perfect bead on Grump's temple. "I'll jest wait till you're stowin' that away, my golden-haired beauty," said the colonel, within himself, "an' then we'll see what cold lead's got to say about it."
Well, we'd just pared the dividend on common and was about breakin' up the session when Mr. Robert misses some figures on export clearances he'd had made up and was pawin' about on the table aimless. "Didn't I see you stowin' that away in one of your desk pigeonholes yesterday?" I suggests. "By George!" says he. "Think you could find it for me, Torchy?
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