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Another moment and he was outside beside Lou, bag and box in his arms. Croaker was nowhere to be seen; neither was the gold piece which he had dropped in his amazement at sight of Billy and Lou. Billy's right hand went into a trouser's pocket; then nervously his left dived into the other pocket. With a sigh of relief he drew out a furry object about the size of a pocket-knife. She agreed with him with a smile, and with a pleasant salutation of the head, walked on..
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Conrad
Anson almost sobbed his relief. "I'll do it," he agreed. "What is it you want'a know, Bill?" Maurice wanted to knock that grin off Anson's sneering mouth, but he was in no condition to do it. Besides it was a moment for diplomacy. "Everybody seems to think I want'a fall in a well an' get drowned, er somethin'," he grumbled. "Why do I need watchin', I'd like to know?" "I am thankful to hear you speak of dancing. If ever your clothes should become rags and flutter to the measures of your feet, your beauty will still make them a finer garment, at least in my sight, than the apparel of royalty in state. But you shall not want for clothes," he said, speaking in his gentlest voice, which, as he held command over fine vocal powers that rendered him at the piano, or at any other instrument, a sweet and engaging and manly singer, would have been found soothing by any ear that had not Lucy Acton's to hear with. "Your dress will last you till our arrival, and then you shall have plenty; whatever your choice selects you may already call your own." Billy sighed his relief. "Gee, but it's lucky you did," he cried. "That's the very thing Trigger Finger Tim would'a done, ain't it, Maurice?".
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