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Runciman, James, 1852-1891

"The Chequers Being the Natural History of a Public-House, Set Forth in a Loafer's Diary"


When all was quiet I rose to take my hat, whereupon Jerry remarked,
"You're not going that way, are you?"
"Must go home before it's too light."
"You'll have another drink?"
"No."
"But you will!"
The Amiable was really extremely exacting.
"Thanks. Good morning."
Jerry locked the door, and put his back to it. Then he softly said,
"You've come home and taken my liquor; you flirt with my sister, and
you're going away without leaving so much as a bit of gold. I'm not such
a fool as Blackey. I know your aunt. I can send a newspaper to her
address, and cook _your_ goose. Suppose I make a row. I can do that, and
we'll both be taken up for brawling outside a house of ill-fame. It
won't matter to me; I'm used to it. But you'll be spoofed. Now, share up
with an old pal, and I'll keep dark."
I had contrived to edge away from him, and I had time to produce the
detestable firearm in a leisurely way.
"You're very kind, Jerry, my lad. I'll stay at this side of the room,
and I shan't fire so long as you keep still.


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