The Little Nugget by P. G. (Pelham Grenville) Wodehouse
page 157 of 331 (47%)
page 157 of 331 (47%)
![]() | ![]() |
|
'Yep, if you want the top of your damn head blown off.'
Such was not my desire. I kept them up. 'Now den, you Sam,' said Mr MacGinnis again, 'we ain't got time to burn. Out with it. Where's dat Nugget?' Some reply was obviously required. It was useless to keep protesting that I was not Sam. 'At this time in the evening he is generally working with Mr Glossop.' 'Who's Glossop? Dat dough-faced dub in de room over dere?' 'Exactly. You have described him perfectly.' 'Well, he ain't dere. I bin rubberin.' Aw, quit yer foolin', Sam, where is he?' 'I couldn't tell you just where he is at the present moment,' I said precisely. 'Ahr chee! Let me swot him one!' begged the man with the pistol; a most unlovable person. I could never have made a friend of him. 'Cheese it, you!' said Mr MacGinnis. The other cheesed it once more, regretfully. |
|