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The Torpedo, September 1913, p.2


hasn't it?" asked Story finally.

        "Long time, old man." echoed Railsback, "but there's nothing like the power of song to bring back old associations. Ever since the night on the river when you asked us not to, we haven't sung it, until you started it yourself to-night."

        "Why did I start it, I wonder?" he reflected, "but things are different now - Sambo! " The negro walked through an open door. "What shall it be, fellows? "

        "A cigar for mine," said Buck in a low voice, as if his order would be apt to cause a disturbance.

        " 'Open the old cigar box; give me a Cuba stout, for things are going cross-ways and Maggie and I are out,' " laughed Railsback. Buck smiled back.

        "You'd be surprised if you really thought such were the case, wouldn't you ? " taking his cigar off the tray, which the negro held toward him and lighting it, while Story and Railsback swallowed the contents of their glasses.

        "Not in the least," said Story, "we have all had a Maggie at some time in our lives."

        "Well, fellows, what do you think of me with an actual affair of the heart ? " asked Buck again shortly.

        "Tell us about her," shouted Railsback, throwing himself into lounging position. Buck felt confidential; he couldn't very well help it. Every thing about him was in sympathy, even the little spears of grass which lifted up their bright little heads from the Bosom of Mother Earth, to the tiny stars nourished by the moon's rays.

        Alexander Buck, Sporting Editor on the Post, was a man fat and thirty, with red face, red hair and red

 

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