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"It grabbed me in its bony fingers," whispered Fatty. "Gosh, it tore the sleeve fair out'a my shirt. Look!" And to prove the truth of his statement he lifted a fat arm to which adhered a tattered sleeve. He coloured brightly at this, and his frown was as though a shadow had come between him and the light that revealed his face. "Now young man," he said grimly, grasping one of Billy's hands and pulling it forward and out, "I'm going to drive that happy smile from your face.".
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Conrad
In one hand he carried a huge butcher-knife, in the other a long whetstone. More big knives glittered in the leather belt about his waist. "Jest sharpenin' my knives ag'in the hog-killin'," he explained, noting the stranger's startled look. "You speak like a gentleman to me in this matter, which you do not often do when I refer to it, nor your father neither——" Billy shook his head. "I've got a skiff to paint 'fore three o'clock this afternoon," he said, "so I best get busy. Tell Erie not to ferget to blow the fog-horn when the ducks are done." He caught his breath and stood with lifted face, as the white light swept it, lingered on it, drew from it reluctantly..
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