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“Isn’t it my turn now, Johnny Blossom?” Bob did not know what to say. Mr. Whitney had given him the feeling that for anyone who was really enthusiastic about the Service, the Service had room. But he thought he had better not be too encouraging. “Why don’t you come up and try? I’ll introduce you to the Boss.” “It seems to me you are very pale,” pursued Mother. “Are you sure you are not sick?”.
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Conrad
When on a dead run he reached the foot of the hill, all the Mexicans had gone, fleeing from what they supposed was a trap. Poor Uncle Isaac! He was sick now again—worse, in fact. He had heart disease, Mother said. Jeremias the wood-cutter also talked of a pain in his heart, but since he had begun to rub himself all over with kerosene, he had become much better. It smelled dreadfully in Jeremias’s little hut, but he was better. Johnny Blossom would certainly write to Uncle Isaac and tell him that all he had to do to cure himself of the pain was to rub himself with kerosene. Johnny Blossom shouted: “Olaf! Herman!” No answer, only the sea’s pounding. A big wave dashed over his legs, and the pear rocked and plunged frightfully. About all he could gather was from their actions. Jerry seemed to be instructing the Mexican and emphasizing that certain things must be done. Miguel at times grew excited and waved his hands frantically as a torrent of words came from his lips. Finally, just as Bob was sure his cramped muscles would force him to move his position, thereby giving away his presence, they seemed to come to an agreement..
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