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Farnol, Jeffery, 1878-1952

"The Definite Object A Romance of New York"

Hermy's--good--"
"Sure, but this guy's got her fazed--she thinks he's square all
right--she'll trust him an' then--s'posin' he ain't?"
"I--I ain't s'posin' nothin' like that!" said Spike, gulping his
whisky.
"Well, s'posin' he's been meetin' her--in a wood--on the sly--eh?
S'posin' they been huggin' an' kissin'--"
"Say now--you cut that out--" stammered Spike, his voice thick. "I tell
ye--she ain't--that kind."
"S'posin'," continued Bud, refilling the lad's glass, "s'posin' I could
show 'em to ye in a wood--eh? Ah! What she want t' meet him in a wood
for, anyway--nice an' quiet, eh?"
"Say now, Bud, I--I ain't goin' t' listen t' no more!" said Spike,
rising and clutching at the table, "I--I'm goin' home!" And swaying on
unsteady feet, he turned to the door, but M'Ginnis gripped his shoulder.
"Wait a bit, Kid."
"N-no, I'm--goin' home--see!" said Spike, setting his jaw obstinately,
"I'm goin'--r-right now!"
"That's just what you ain't!" snarled M'Ginnis. "Sit down! Hermy's only
a work-girl--don't forget that, Kid--an' this guy's a millionaire.


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