That's what'll happen to
Granite Jaw one of these days, too, if he--"
"Pretty soft on the Granite Jaw, ain't cha? M-m-n! Yum-yum! Pretty
soft!" When the Baron mouthed he became in expression Punchinello with
his finger alongside his nose, his face tightening and knotting into
cunning. "Pretty soft on the Granite Jaw! Yum--yum--yum!"
"Little devil! Little devil! I'll catch you and spank you to death."
"Yum! Yum!"
"It's better to have loved a short man
Than never to have loved atall."
"Little peewee, you! Jastrow ain't short. Them thick, strong-necked kind
never look their height. That boy is five feet two, if he's an inch.
Them stocky ones is the build that make the strong kind. Looka him lift
up that cannon-ball with just his left hand. B-r-r-r-r! Listen how it
shakes the place when he lets its fall! Looka! Honest, it makes me sick!
It's a wonder he don't kill himself."
"Better to have loved a short man
Than never to have loved atall."
The day, sun-riddled, stare-riddled, sawdusty, and white with glare,
slouched into the clanging, banging, electric-pianoed, electrifying
Babylonia of a Coney Island Saturday night. The erupting lava of a
pent-up work-a-week, odoriferous of strong foods and wilted clothing,
poured hotly down that boulevard of the bourgeoise, Ocean Avenue.
Pages:
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299