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“Oh!” interposed Betty, “but they didn’t throw a sorft stone. I don’t b’lieve in sorft answers no more.” “And could he beat the old gentleman?” inquired Nell Gordon, vastly entertained. “They’re a regular Damon and Pythias, aren’t they? And we’ll have Flash for the Polar Bear, in the circus, and Tom for the Royal Bengal Tiger, the baby tiger, you know.”.
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Conrad
Maria, accompanied by Betty, repaired to the spot where they had left the little boy. He was not there. In vain they shouted and called his name. “Wait, Billy! You are hurt, badly. Let me see.” She put out a detaining hand. Presently Moses’ thoughts returned to the meals provided by the restaurants of Calgary, and he decided it would be a good pastime for some rainy day to relate it all to Betty especially about the “little minners suffercated in rice an’ tryin’ to climb onto rafts of lemon-slices.” It was apparent to the most casual observer that Mannel’s whole wardrobe consisted of one grey shirt, one pair of faded blue overalls and a pair of braces. To the uninitiated his occasional absences from school for an entire day would have seemed most mysterious. Leading questions as to the cause having been put to other members of the family who were present elicited only a reluctant reply that Mannel was not ill. Further than this they would not go. At last even on the most obtuse one, light would dawn. Mannel was being laundered..
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