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Farnol, Jeffery, 1878-1952

"The Definite Object A Romance of New York"


"Not on your life, bo; you'd queer th' whole show. Y' see, they're a
tough crowd an' apt t' act a bit hasty now an' then; 'sides, they might
think you're heeled, and they know I don't never carry a gun--they all
know me--"
"Still, I'm coming, Spider--"
"Y' can't, bo; Mrs. Trapes ain't goin' t' let ye--look at her!"
"You never spoke a truer word since you drawed the vital air, Spider
Connolly!" nodded Mrs. Trapes, hands on hips and elbows at the "engage."
"If Mr. Geoffrey stirs out this day, he's jest gotter trample over my
mangled remains, that's all!"
Heeding the glitter in her eye and noting the inexorable jut of her
elbows, Ravenslee sat down and went on filling his pipe.
"Y' see, bo, I know as it wasn't you as give Bud away, an' the boys'll
listen t' my say-so--you bet they will. So here's where I ooze away. S'
long, all!"
The Old Un, having bolted the last handful of cake, got upon his legs
and clutched the Spider's coat in talon-like fingers.
"'Old 'ard, young feller, me lad!" he cried. "If there's any chance of
a scrap comin' off--wot about me? Gimme me 'at, Joe, an' get yourn; if I
don't knock some on 'em stone cold--call me a perishin' ass!"
"Why, since you say so, old blood an' bones," said Joe, his mild eye
brightening, "we will step along with the Spider a little way if the
Guv'nor'll excuse us?"
"Certainly, Joe," nodded Ravenslee, "on condition that you do just as
the Spider says.


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