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I made no reply. He looked momentous, leaned to me sidewise with a hand horizontally across his mouth, and whispered a name. It was new to me. "Charlie Toliver?" I murmured, for we were at the tent door.

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

He hiccoughed. "Let's--s'--see y' orders."

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