Soon the little outcast will say “adieu.”
When Jan came to me the second time, with the woe-begone look, I took him to Buster Brown, the mailing clerk, and recommended him for a newsboy. Buster ran his cruel eye over him and asked, in Pilot Mountain vernacular: “Have you ever harpooned the public in any way?”
“A coup sur,” said Jan.
“What’s that you’ve handed me?” asked Buster.
“‘Surely,’ he means,” said I.
“What is he?”
“French.”
“Will you accept me as a friend?” asked Buster, proud to have a real Frenchman for an employé.
“A bras ouverts,” was the reply.
“Come again,” said the Pilot Mountain man.