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Whin Corbett was poundin' th' first jintleman iv th' land like a man shinglin' a roof, th' first lady iv th' land stood in th' corner, cheerin' on th' bruised an' bleedin' hero. 'Darlin'' she says, 'think iv ye'er home, me love. Think, she says, 'iv our little child larnin' his caddychism in Rahway, New Jersey, she says.
He closed and barred the outside door, and then pounded upon the inside door for admittance. Worry let him in. "They'd make a bowl-fight or a football rush look tame," panted Murray. "Hey! Scotty lock up tight down in the basement. For Heaven's sake don't let that push get in on us! Lock the windows in the front." "Who's that poundin' on the door?" yelled Worry.
And then I heard a tramplin' an' a poundin' as the herd swept down the ravine an' into the corral, an' next minute I heard George Hendricks give the yell he allus give when a job was done, an' I yelled back yelled till my voice cracked; an' it was the biggest relief I ever had. I kept on yellin' until they got to the cook shack.
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