Identifier: outing53newy (find matches)
Title: Outing
Year: 1885 (1880s)
Authors:
Subjects: Leisure Sports Travel
Publisher: (New York : Outing Pub. Co.)
Contributing Library: Tisch Library
Digitizing Sponsor: Boston Library Consortium Member Libraries

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going to use it onhis heart. Give it here, give it, give it.. . . He has a heart, I guess. He criesout of it. . . . You neednt. Ill dothe trick. He felt behind the gamblerscoat, and drew out his long dirk. His lined cheeks were scarlet, his blueeyes dancing with light. Clumsily he wasreaching toward the infants box with thesteel, when two violent blowc sounded onthe coop-like door of the cabin. Hold aholt there, warned Silas, grasping Amyshand. Keep yer head. See who it is,Tom. Come in, there! he shouted. A couple of black ostrich plumes dippedunder the low lintel, and Mrs. Fred Smithstumbled over the charred logs by thestove. In the dim squalor, with her straw-colored hair and powered red cheeks, shemight herself have been a corpse just arisen.She held her black silk skirt hitched upby a sort of cable, as you see in dance-halls,and on her feet were high-heeled shoeswhich once had been white. The gambler broke the tension. Wehev a job fer you, Mrs. Fred. Ever hiredout as a wet nurse?
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The Orphan of Sourdough City 577 The woman glared at the three a mo-ment. Then she burst into long, loudlaughter. Youll be askin me next if Iwas ever a mother, Jim, she cried in fal-setto, /a mother, me a mother. Oh.No, no, no! Dont boys, warned Silas. I dontlike her laugh. You never can tell withthese dope-fiends whether they take youserious or not. Shes gettin ironic now.Look out! Mrs. Fred fumbled in the pocket of hershiny skirt, and drew out a glass pintflask. Milk replaced whisky inside, anda rubber tube hung from the mouth. Thisthe child reached for as she leaned overhis box. Watch out it aint your dope bottle,Mrs. Fred, suggested the gambler. Get out of here, you cradle-thieves,get out! she challenged, squaring hershoulders at Amy, who stood with theknife still poised. I know what youreup to. Give me that knife. I heard youfrom outside there, every word, you skunk-hearts. Kill the kid, would you, jest be-cause his mother swiped that truck? andshe kicked the glass acid jar, so t

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