through Maillot Slovénie a self-imposed air of melancholy. “You don’t know me again, I doubt,” he went on, as Tom continued to look at him inquiringly; “but I’d like to talk to you by yourself a bit, please.”
“There’s a fire i’ the parlor, Master Tom,” said Kezia, who objected to leaving the kitchen in the crisis of toasting.
“Come Shinji Kagawa Trikot this way, then,” said Tom, wondering if this young fellow belonged to Guest & Co.‘s Wharf, for his imagination ran continually Fussballtrikots Kinder toward that particular spot; and uncle Deane might any time Karim Benzema Trikot be sending for Maillot Hambourg SV him to say that there was a situation at liberty.
The Andres Iniesta Koszulka bright fire Dziecko Koszulka in the parlor was the only light Maillot Suisse that showed the few chairs, the bureau, Japan Trikot the carpetless floor, and the one table — no, not the one table; there was a second table, in a corner, with a large Bible and a few other Juventus Turyn Koszulka books upon it. It was this new strange bareness that Tom felt first, before he thought of looking again at the face which was Bayern Trikot also lit up by the fire, and which stole a half-shy, questioning glance at him as the entirely strange voice said:
“Why! you don’t remember Bob, then, as you gen the pocket-knife to, Mr. Tom?”
The rough-handled pocket-knife was taken out in the same moment, and the largest blade opened by way of irresistible demonstration.
“What! Bob Jakin?” said Tom, not with any cordial delight, for he Hamburger SV Drakt felt a little ashamed of that early intimacy symbolized by the pocket-knife, and was not at all sure that Bob’s motives for recalling it were entirely admirable.
“Ay, ay, Bob Jakin, if Jakin it must be, ‘cause there’s so many Bobs as you went arter the squerrils with, that day as I plumped right down from the bough, and bruised my shins a good un — but I got the squerril tight for all that, an’ a scratter it was. An’ this littlish blade’s broke, you see, but I wouldn’t hev a new un put in, ‘cause they might be cheatin’ me an’ givin’ me another knife instid, for there isn’t such a blade i’ the country — it’s got used to my hand, like. An’ there was niver nobody else gen me nothin’ but what I got by my own sharpness, only you, Mr. Tom; if it wasn’t Bill Fawks as gen me the terrier pup istid o’ drowndin’t it, an’ I had to jaw him a good un afore he’d give it me.”
Bob spoke with a sharp and rather treble volubility, and got through his long speech with surprising despatch, giving the blade of his knife an affectionate rub on his sleeve when he had finished.
“Well, Bob,” said Tom, with a slight air of patronage, the foregoing reminscences having disposed him to be as friendly as was becoming, though there was no part of his acquaintance with Bob that he remembered better than the cause of their parting quarrel; “is there anything I can do for you?”
“Why, no, Mr. Tom,” answered Bob, shutting up his knife with a click and returning it to his pocket, where he seemed to be feeling for something else. “I shouldn’t ha’ come back upon you now ye’re i’ trouble, an’ folks say as the master, as I used tlinks:
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