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Fitzhugh, Percy Keese, 1876-1950

"Roy Blakely, Pathfinder"

Gaylong said I
could read it."
Gee whiz, there wasn't any harm in that. Oftentimes I'd do things like that
with fellows, and especially Dorry, because I'd known him so long.
"You put that back," he said, kind of mad.
"What's the use of getting mad?" I said.
"You're grouchy because you can't sleep. Here, let's have your flashlight."
And I just grabbed that out of his pocket, too.
I guess he was going to grab them both away from me; anyway, it seemed that
way for a couple of seconds.
Then he said, "Now you'll go and spoil it all."
"Spoil what?" I asked him.
"Go on, read it," he said.
"Sure I'll read it," I told him; "what's all the excitement about?"
"I hope you can keep your mouth shut," he said.
But, believe _me_, I didn't read very much of it, because all I could see
was the picture. I held the flashlight on it and just stared and stared
and stared.
Then I said, "Dorry!--You know--? I was just flabbergasted and I could
hardly speak.
"Sure I know," he said; "it's Jib Jab. I'm going to get my motorcycle after
all."

CHAPTER XXVI
DORRY AND I AND THE CRICKET
For a couple of minutes I could hardly speak, I was so surprised.


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