Those
were real nice cutlets yesterday, Mr Price, and you had
better send us a sirloin for tomorrow, about six pounds;
but it doesn't matter to an ounce. And you can save us
sweetbreads for Sunday; I like yours better than Luff's."
John Murchison, Alec, and Oliver came shortly up to
dinner, bringing stirring tales from the field. There
was the personator in Subdivision Six of a dead man--a
dead Grit--wanted by the bloodhounds of the other side
and tracked to the Reform committee room, where he was
ostensibly and publicly taking refuge.
"Why did he go there?" asked Stella, breathlessly.
"Why, to make it look like a put-up job of ours, of
course, "said her brother. "And it was a put-up job, a
good old Tory fake. But they didn't calculate on Bingham
and Bingham's memory. Bingham happened to be in the
committee room, and he recognized this fellow for a
regular political tough from up Muskoka way, where they
get six for a bottle of Canadian and ten if it's Scotch.
'Why, good morning,' says Bingham, 'thought you were in
jail,' and just then he catches sight of a couple of
trailers from the window. Well, Bingham isn't just
lightning smart, but then he isn't SLOW, you know. 'Well,'
he says, 'you can't stop here,' and in another second he
was throwing the fellow out. Threw him out pretty hard,
too.
Pages:
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391