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“No kill. Tie, gag, throw in bushes. Him no more trouble to-night. Then come here get you.” “Oh! but to think—music! It’s just heavenly to listen to music.” CHAPTER V.
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kez_ h (Kez_h)
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Conrad
The conversation had taken place as they climbed the hill to the Upper Town. Now, Mr. Whitney went off in the direction of his cottage, and Bob to the office. For that was just the way the trouble began. He had been walking on his tallest stilts the whole afternoon—the stilts that were exactly, to the dot, one yard fifteen inches and a half tall—and then had sat himself on the fence along the back alley. He was facing the yard, with his back toward the alley, and that disgusting Olsen boy came past and gave him a dig in the back with that sharp stick. Just think of it! Wouldn’t anybody say it was unbearable? “Trouble below, Billy!” gasped Bob as he came to the shed that protected the operator from the rays of the sun. “Need the Big Boss. He’s over at the spillway. Shoot me over?” “Ha! I’ll get her out!”.
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