"Is id to my face you go behind my back to make googley-googley eyes ad somevun—yes?" she growled, and in a minute the brewer's brow was busy with the window pane.
"Sweetie looks at Petie and Sweetie sees that Petie's p'etty face is getting sunburned, so it is!" cuckooed Mrs. Daffy; "and Sweetie has a dood mind to tiss him, too!"
They opened a newspaper, crawled under cover and began to bite each other on the chin.
"Go as far as you like!" said Slim, then he went down and out.
The man who helped to make Weehawken famous had his head out the window watching for an ice-wagon, and Mrs. Brewer was industriously muttering "Du bist ein Narr. Du bist ein Narr!"
Just then the train pulled out and saved our lives.
Nick, Tod, Slim and I went over near the water-cooler to rest up, and in a minute the three of them were fanning each other with fairy tales about the goods they sold.
I'll back these three boys to dream longer than any other drummers on the track.
It's a pipe that they can sell bills to each other all day and never wake up.
Slim turned the gas on to the limit about hypnotizing a John Wanamaker merchant prince in Pikesville, Indiana, to the extent of $200 for open-work socks, farmer's size, and Todd Stone sent his balloon up by telling us how he sold the Siegel-Coopers of Bugsport, Iowa, $300 worth of Panama hats for horses.