"
"Arthur, if it's that pie you want--"
"It ain't!"
"Well, what is it?"
"How d' ye know I want anything?"
"Oh, I just guess, maybe."
"Well, say--if you could cop me one o' Geoff's cigarettes--one o' them
with gold letterin' onto 'em--"
"You mean--thieve you one!"
"Why, no, a cigarette ain't thievin'. Say, now, dear old Trapesy, I'm
jest dyin' for a gasper!"
"Well, you go on dyin', an' I'll set right here an' watch how you do
it."
"If I was t' die you'd be sorry for this, I reckon."
"Anyway, I'd plant some flowers on you, my lad, an' keep your lonely
grave nice--"
"Huh!" sniffed Spike, "a lot o' good that 'ud do me when I was busy
pushin' up th' daisies. It's what I want now that matters."
"An' what you want now, Arthur, is a rod of iron--good 'n' heavy.
Discipline's your cryin' need, an' you're sure goin' t' get it."
"Oh? Where?"
"At college! My land, think of you at Yale or Harvard or C'lumbia--"
"Sure you can think; thinkin' can't cut no ice."
"Anyway, you're goin' soon as you're fit; Mr.
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