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McCutcheon, George Barr, 1866-1928

"Green Fancy"


Mr. Sprouse was looking down upon him, his sharp features fixed in a
sardonic grin.
"Well, I'll be damned!" burst from Barnes's lips. He could not believe
his eyes.
"Surprised to see me, eh? If you're not in a hurry, I'd certainly
appreciate a lift as far as the Tavern, old man. I'll be down in a
jiffy."
"Hold on! What the deuce does all this mean? How do you happen to be
here, and where are the--"
"Sh! Not so loud! Don't get excited. I dare say you know all there is
to know about me by this time, so we needn't waste time over trifles.
Stand aside! I'm going to drop." A moment later he swung over the
sill, and dropped lightly to the ground eight feet below. Dusting his
hands, he advanced and extended one of them to the bewildered Barnes.
"Oh, you won't shake, eh? Well, it doesn't matter. I don't blame you."
"See here, Sprouse or whatever your name is,--"
"Cool off! I'll explain in ten words. I didn't get the stuff. I came
back this morning to have a quiet, undisturbed look around. My only
reason for revealing myself to you now, Barnes, is to ask your
assistance in--"
"Ask my assistance, you infernal rogue!" roared Barnes. "Why, I'll--
I'll--"
"Better hear me out," broke in Sprouse calmly.


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