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Reeve, Arthur B. (Arthur Benjamin), 1880-1936

"Guy Garrick"

"A feller from the perlice come an' copped off
two--that sixty tin can and the ninety Despard."
"Huh--so the bulls are after him?"
"Yeh. One was here all night after the fight."
"Did they follow the Chief?"
"Follow the Chief? Say, when anyone follows the Chief he's gotter
be better than any bull that ever pounded a beat."
"What did the Boss say when he heard it?"
"Mad as---. We gotter lay low now."
"The Chief's gone up-state, I guess."
"We can guess all we want. The Boss knows. I don't."
"Why didn't they make a pinch? Ain't there nobody watchin' now?"
"Naw. They ain't got nothin' on us. Say, the Chief can put them
fellers just where he wants 'em. See the paper this morning? That
was some raid up at the joint--eh?"
"You bet. That Garrick's a pretty smooth chap. But the Chief can
put it all over him."
"Yep," agreed the other speaker.
I handed the receivers back to Garrick with a smile.
"You are not without some admirers," I remarked, repeating the
conversation substantially to him.


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