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Henry, O., 1862-1910

"The Gentle Grafter"

The Peaviners hadn't
left anything in my pockets except a plug of chewing--they wasn't
after my life--and that saved it. I bit off a chunk and sits down on a
pile of ties by the track to recogitate my sensations of thought and
perspicacity.
"And then along comes a fast freight which slows up a little at the
town; and off of it drops a black bundle that rolls for twenty yards
in a cloud of dust and then gets up and begins to spit soft coal and
interjections. I see it is a young man broad across the face, dressed
more for Pullmans than freights, and with a cheerful kind of smile in
spite of it all that made Phoebe Snow's job look like a chimney-sweep's.
"'Fall off?' says I.
"'Nunk,' says he. 'Got off. Arrived at my destination. What town is
this?'
"'Haven't looked it up on the map yet,' says I. 'I got in about five
minutes before you did. How does it strike you?'
"'Hard,' says he, twisting one of his arms around. 'I believe that
shoulder--no, it's all right.'
"He stoops over to brush the dust off his clothes, when out of his
pocket drops a fine, nine-inch burglar's steel jimmy.


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