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“Jist hold on there, Mose, we wanter play a game of checkers on yer pants.” At this jibe Moses turned and held up a clenched fist as warning of a potential thrashing which the boys knew would never materialize. Moses was slow to active wrath. He was a queer figure with his bandaged head, one eye peering out, and a long, dripping red quilt trailing behind him. “I found the bed flooded, and put the comfort round me; but someway that’s wet, too.” He could hardly speak for shivering. Jean’s face fell, and she didn’t look at Billy when she spoke. “My mother says I mustn’t wrestle any more.”.

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As far as general knowledge went, Betty was a complete encyclopedia ahead of Moses. That youth’s brains had too many labyrinthine passages through which knowledge meandered and got lost to ever lay claim to erudition. As for creative ability, Betty imbibed ideas at every pore. She took odd moments of her busy days and patching them together made hours of creative joy, a sort of mental Joseph’s coat of rainbow brightness. Miss Gordon complied, then followed the old favorite with a two-step played in as sprightly a manner as the organ would allow. “Please, Mith Wopp, the latht windthorm upthet our hen-houth.” “That’s Flash; he always works for his breakfast,” Billy pompously approved..