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Updated: June 27, 2025
I mean before I had thought quite how to tell it rightly, for the story itself was true, as mother had told it me herself. "Tom and Racey," I said, "I don't think you ever heard the story I am going to tell you. Mother told it to me one day when you weren't in the room. It is about mother's godmother when she was a little girl."
"I know it all by heart," nodded Jack Richie. "In about a week or ten days, maybe less," said Racey Dawson, "you'll know more than that. And so will a good many other folks." "Mr. Pooley," said Racey Dawson, easing himself into the chair beside the register's desk, "where is McFluke?" Mr. Pooley's features remained as wooden as they were fat. His small, wide-set eyes did not flicker.
"Look at that," said Piney Jackson, indicating a humped-up individual sitting behind the woodpile. Racey and the other spectators went round the woodpile and viewed the humped-up individual. The latter was Bull, the Starlight bartender. And he was dead, very dead. His throat had been cut from ear to ear. He was a ghastly object.
I'll write to Pierson to-night, when nobody can see, I'll write to her." Tom and Racey saw that I was unhappy, though I only said "never mind," and when they saw that, it made them leave off quarrelling, and they both came to me to kiss me and ask me not to look "so sorry." Just then Sarah came up with our tea-tray. She spoke very kindly to us, and told us she had begged Mrs.
Here's Molly Dale thinks Racey is the only fellah ever rode a cayuse, and you have to blat out so she can hear you, 'Marie must shore like him a lot'." "Well, what of it? I don't see " "You don't? Wait till I tell Kate." "It ain't necessary to tell my daughter," Mr. Saltoun remonstrated, hurriedly. "I suppose my saying that about Marie might give Molly a wrong idea maybe about Racey.
"What," said the pretty girl, laying the banjo on the table and sliding down till her feet touched the floor, "what can I do for you?" "Nun-nothin'," stuttered the rattled Racey, clasping his hat to his bosom, so that he could button unseen the top button of his shirt, "except cuc-can you find Miss Dale for me. Is she home?" "Mother's out. So's Father, I'm the only one home."
"Well," prompted Racey, "you'd oughta be able to tell us whether there was any other fights while you was here?" "They wasn't," plunged Thompson. "Everything was salubrious till Dale started his battle." "And when did you get here?" pursued Racey. "Oh, I'd been here all night." "And you dunno of any other brush except the one between Dale and the stranger?"
"Of course we love you, Audrey, and we don't love that cross old thing one bit." "But," pursued Tom, looking rather puzzled, "aren't we to do what Uncle Geoff says?" "And Pierson?" said Racey. "Pierson's soon going away. It doesn't matter for her," I said. "But Uncle Geoff?" repeated Tom, returning to the charge.
"We thought we heard shootin' " began Galloway, staring in astonishment at the grotesque posture Rack Slimson had assumed the better to endure the ministrations of the bartender. "We heard shootin', all right," said Judge Dolan, his glance sweeping past Slimson and the bartender to the rear of the room. "What's happened, Racey?" queried Dolan, striding forward. "Both of 'em cashed?"
If they was why ain't Jack Harpe done something before this? Tell me that. Why ain't he?" "Damfino." "Shore you don't. You was mistaken, Racey. Badly mistaken. Yore judgment was out by a mile. She's all just Luke Tweezy and that lousy skunk of a Lanpher trying to act spotty. No more than that." "Well, ain't that enough?" "Shore, but " "But nothing.
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