The Camp Fire Girls on the Farm - Or, Bessie King's New Chum by Jane L. Stewart
page 28 of 149 (18%)
page 28 of 149 (18%)
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than pickin' pockets, let me tell you."
His heavy hand dropped to Weeks' shoulder, but he was too slow. With a yell of fright the old farmer, displaying an agility with which no one would have been ready to credit him, turned and dove headlong through the crowd. The policeman started to give chase, but Tom Norris restrained him. He was laughing heartily. "What's the use? Let him be, Mike," he said. "My, but it was as good as a play to see you handle him. Gosh! Watch the old beggar run, will you?" Indeed, Weeks was running as fast as he could, and, even as they watched him, he disappeared inside the station. "That's a good riddance. Maybe he'll go home and stay there," said the conductor. "He won't try his dirty tricks on you again," he added, turning to Bessie. "If he does, you'll have a friend in Mike, here." "True for you, Tom Norris!" said the policeman. "I'm glad ye turned up, boy. Ye saved me from makin' a fool of meself, I'm thinkin'. The old omadhoun! To think he'd put up a job like that on a slip of a girl, and him ould enough to be her father--or her grandfather!" "Well, I've helped you out again, haven't I?" said Tom Norris. "Are you living here in the city now? Suppose you tell me why old Weeks is so mean to you, now that we've the time." "I will, and gladly," said Bessie. "But I haven't so very much time. Can |
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