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"Will you help me carry him into the house?" Saxon asked. Mercedes nodded, turned to a sergeant of police, and made the request to him. The sergeant gave a swift glance at Bert, and his eyes were bitter and ferocious as he refused. "To hell with'm. We'll care for our own." "Maybe you and I can do it," Saxon said. "Don't be a fool." Mercedes was beckoning to Mrs. Olsen across the street.
He got what he was seeking, for he stung me to retort: "Oh, I'll testify. Though I tell you candidly that I don't think I'll win my bet." "You loose 'm bet sure," the steward broke in, nodding his head. "That fellow him die damn soon." "Bet with'm, sir," David challenged me. "It's a straight tip from me, an' a regular cinch."
But Flicker's a winner, for all that, an' he's goin' to keep my boy Sammy in order, better'n I could ever do it. You see, I just has to hint to Sammy that if he ain't proper-behaved I won't let Flicker 'sociate with'm, an' he's as good as pie. I wouldn't be without that dog, sir, now I got intimately acquainted with him, for " "That touches the question I was intending to raise," interposed Mr.
You won't like him, but he's a swell dancer. He's heavy, you know, an' he just slides and glides around. You wanta have a dance with'm anyway. He's a good spender, too. Never pinches. But my! he's got one temper." The talk wandered on, a monologue on Mary's part, that centered always on Bert Wanhope. "You and he are pretty thick," Saxon ventured.
When I think of the time when my father an' mother, God bless 'em, uster take me with'm to the leetle parish church way back in New Brunswick, a lump comes inter my throat, an' a feelin' creeps over me that I can't jist describe.
He speaks to the help as if they was dirt under his feet, an' he'd as lief lie as look at you, an' always up to some new devilment. It'd take your time to think fast enough to keep up with'm. But he ain't all bad I don't believe no child is, not on your life, an' my idea is, he'd turn out O.K. if only he'd the right sort o' handlin'. Mr.
He never sees me but it's, 'How d'do, Martha? or, 'How's the childern an' Mr. Slawson these days? He certainly has got grand ways with'm, Mr. Frank has. An' yet, he's never free. You wouldn't dare make bold with'm. His eyes has a sort o' keep-off-the-grass look gener'ly, but when he smiles down at you, friendly-like, why, you wouldn't call the queen your cousin.
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