stitched brady jersey

"Wish what?"

"We shall have to get Ned Ferry back here," the Major was saying as I entered, "to make you boys let Scott Gholson alone."

One of the cars furthest from the engine had no freight proper, only a number of trunks; and these were nearly hidden by the widely crinolined flounces of an elegant elderly lady who sat on the middle one. And now she, too, was hidden, and the wide doorway in the side of the car more than filled, by the fashionable gowns of three girls. On the ground below there stood a lieutenant in a homemade gray uniform, and at his back half a dozen big, slouching, barefoot boys squirted tobacco juice and gazed at the ladies. The officer scanned me, spoke to the ladies, scanned me again, and threw up an arm. "Ho--o! Come here! Hullo! Come here--if you please."

"Why, what does all this mean?" asked Miss Harper amid her nieces' cries.

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I almost leaped from the ground in consternation. My whole frame throbbed, my mouth fell open, my tongue was tied.

"Coralie! Coralie Rothvelt!"--my cry was an honest one--"you tempt me beyond human endurance."

He spurted a pint to reply, "Fishe's batt'ry."

"Oh! And where is the battery?"

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