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MacGrath, Harold, 1871-1932

"Half a Rogue"


"Shall we?" cried Warrington, mischief in his eyes.
"Yes." There was no fear in this girl.
On they went, in a cloud of dust. The Italians made for the ditches,
but the boss stood in the road and waved his arms in warning.
Presently he, too, ducked.
Hep! and over the pair went, landing clean and sound on the other side
of the barrier. Before the surprised boss could express himself, they
were far down the road. A curse was hurled after them, but they heard
it not. They hadn't hurt the road at all, but the authority of the
boss had suffered. He knew the girl, little snob! He would find out
who the man was, soon enough. And if he had any influence in the City
Hall, as he believed he had, he would make it tolerably warm for
yonder vanishing parties.
He had put up that barrier to signify that the road was closed; very
well, they'd see. Dirt under their feet, huh? All right. How he hated
them all, with their horses and carriages and dances and dinners and
clubs! Bah! He took a flask from his pocket and drank. Then he cursed
the laggard Italians, and mourned that a year and a half must pass
before he could sell their votes again.


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