Chip, of the Flying U by B. M. Bower
page 62 of 174 (35%)
page 62 of 174 (35%)
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The Old Man winked at the Little Doctor over a great wedge of feathery delight. "I don't see nothing the matter with this--only it goes down too easy," he assured the Countess between mouthfuls. "Fix up your list, Dell, and don't be afraid t' order everything yuh need. I'll foot the--" The Old Man, thinking to go back to his work, stepped into the puddle of soft soap and sat emphatically down upon the top step, coasting rapidly to the bottom. A carpet slipper shot through the open door and landed in the dishpan; the other slipper disappeared mysteriously. The wedge of cake was immediately pounced upon by an investigative hen and carried in triumph to her brood. "Good Lord!" J. G. struggled painfully to his feet. "Dell, who in thunder put that stuff there? You're a little too doggoned anxious for somebody t' practice on, seems t' me." A tiny trickle of blood showed in the thin spot on his head. "Are you hurt, J. G.? We--I spilled the soap." The Little Doctor gazed solicitous, from the doorway. "Huh! I see yuh spilled the soap, all right enough. I'm willin' to believe yuh did without no affidavit. Doggone it, a bachelor never has any such a man-trap around in a fellow's road. I've lived in Montana fourteen years, an' I never slipped up on my own doorstep till you got here. It takes a woman t' leave things around--where's my cake ?" "Old Specie took it down by the bunk house. Shall I go after it?" |
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