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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"Condensed Novels: New Burlesques"


The two men turned quickly as he entered; the angry light faded
from their eyes, and an awed and respectful submission to the
intruder took its place. He walked quietly toward them, put a
lozenge in the mouth of one and felt the pulse of the other, gazing
critically at both.
"We will be all right in a moment," he said with professional
confidence.
"I say!" said Fitz-Fulke, gazing at the doctor's costume, "you look
dooced smart in those togs, don'tcherknow."
"They suit me," said the doctor, with a playful swish of his birch
twigs, at which the two grave men shuddered. "But you were
speaking of somebody's beautiful eyes."
"The Princess Zut-Ski's," returned McFeckless eagerly; "and this
daft callant said"--
"He didn't like them," put in Fitz-Fulke promptly.
"Ha!" said the doctor sharply, "and why not, sir?" As Fitz-Fulke
hesitated, he added brusquely: "There! Run away and play! I've
business with this young man," pointing to McFeckless.
As Fitz-Fulke escaped gladly from the room, the doctor turned to
McFeckless. "It won't do, my boy. The Princess is not for you--
you'll only break your heart and ruin your family over her! That's
my advice. Chuck her!"
"But I cannot," said McFeckless humbly. "Think of her weirdly
beautiful eyes."
"I see," said the doctor meditatively; "sort of makes you feel
creepy? Kind of all-overishness, eh? That's like her.


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