The streak was Ash-Can Sam. Omar Ben Sufi sat down in the middle of the
street, and wondered. He had thrashed something, and he didn't understand
it. So he just sat there, quivering, bleeding, battered--but a conqueror.
Ringtail Pete endeavored to express himself, but emotion choked him;
therefore he spat fervidly and said:
"Hully gee!"
Then he and the ladies descended from the roof, to walk in silent circles
around the champion, regarding him with a species of cataleptic awe.
Presently, however, Pete came to earth, extended his paw, and delivered
himself of an established truth:
"Well, dang my hide, but it takes er 'ristercrat fer to glitter in a
scrap!"
They escorted him all the way to his eighty-thousand-dollar home. The
ladies kissed him--both of them--and helped him to clamber weakly over
his garden wall.
He turned to Ringtail with an easy, aristocratic smile: "_Au revoir,_
R.T.! Those frawgs were most delicious!"
"Hully gee!" breathed Pete, and disappeared through the dusk of the
outer world.
III
Now, in the eighty-thousand-dollar cottage black sorrow reigned
throughout the night. There were tears and linguistic prayers. There
were tinklings of little bells, while humans called shrilly to
vulgar officials along the wires.
Pages:
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29