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Updated: August 25, 2024
Larne and her children. This, as you know, is a breach of trust on your part." The old man's voice: "Where did you get hold of that cock-and-bull story?" brought him to his feet before the fire. "It won't do, Mr. Heythorp. My witnesses are Mr. Pillin, Mrs. Larne, and Mr. Scriven." "What have you come here for, then blackmail?" Mr.
Heyton had stood staring at the two old men dully; his sodden brain did not realize at first the importance of the avowal; then the blood rushed to his face and he stammered: "What's all this? What's the meaning of this cock-and-bull story? I I don't understand. You don't suppose I'm going to cave in, accept this fairytale? I'm your son I'm the next in succession "
"But you see you are getting rather the best of this performance. You come here with a ridiculous cock-and-bull story, you threaten and vapor and kick up mock-heroics, you throw a bottle of ink over a book belonging to a friend of mine and then you are to get off by saying two or three words of apology!" "What can I do more?" said the humble penitent. "I have tried to explain.
With Del Norte dead and gone I fancy you thought your troubles ended. Me boy, you were wrong. Although you did not know it, old Guerrero was not the only one who obtained concessions in Eastern Sonora." "What's the man driving at?" growled Scott. "Is he here with another cock-and-bull story about land grants?" "It's no cock-and-bull story you'll find it," asserted the Irishman.
"Yass, sah! Yass, sah! Hun f'om Boston! He's got de chisel and de hammer and de saw." We all stared. "Come, come, doctor," said Roger. "What's this cock-and-bull story?" "Yass, sah, he's got de chisel and de hammer and de saw. Ah was a-watchin', yass, sah. He don't fool dis yeh ol' nigger. Ah see him sneakin' round when Chips he ain't looking."
"I was detained out last night on an errand," explained he to some three or four stragglers who had gathered round him, "and when I got in, my old mother told me a cock-and-bull story of a cry and a splash, as if somebody had fallen into the river. It don't look much like it, though." "A dead dog, maybe," suggested one of the idlers. "They're always throwing rubbish into this river on the sly."
Auguste, of course, lost all interest in my dinner. If he wasn't after me then he was after him; both meant trouble for Auguste. "I shifted my chair, opened the 'Gazetta' to serve as a screen, and looked the fellow over. If he were following me around to murder me, as Auguste concluded he always had some cock-and-bull story to tell he was certainly very polite about it.
We never know what we may be brought to ourselves." For it was Aunt Tipping's unformulated axiom that, whatever cock-and-bull stories misfortune may tell, there is always some truth in human misery.
Reeve says that he fired a couple of times when he fell. But the sheriff says that Reeve only fired once, as his hoss was falling, and that the other shot that was found fired out of Reeve's gun was fired into the heart of Armstrong. Oh, they ain't any doubt about it. All Reeve has got is a cock-and-bull yarn that would make a fool laugh!"
That was the story, and I thought at the time 'twas all a cock-and-bull tale, and that Martin's mind was wandering; for he was very weak, and seemed flushed too, like one just waken from a dream. But he had a cunning look in his eye when he told me, and said if he lived another week he would be Lord Blandamer himself, and wouldn't want then to sell any pictures.
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