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Smith, Francis Hopkinson, 1838-1915

"The Under Dog"

It's stopped bleeding now. It would be
tough for you if they pinched me here. Keep away, I tell you--I ain't
got a minute to lose. I didn't want to hurt him even after he gave me
this one in my back, but his girl was wearing it and there warn't no
other way. Git behind them curtains, "Doc." So! Good-by.'
"And he was gone."

PLAIN FIN--PAPER-HANGER

I
The man was a little sawed-off, red-headed Irishman, with twinkling,
gimlet eyes, two up-curved lips always in a broad smile, and a pair of
thin, caliper-shaped legs.
His name was as brief as his stature.
"Fin, your honor, by the grace of God. F-i-n, Fin. There was a 'Mac' in
front of it once, and an 'n' to the tail of it in the old times, so me
mother says, but some of me ancisters--bad cess to 'em!--wiped 'em out.
Plain Fin, if you plase, sor."
The punt was the ordinary Thames boat: a long, narrow, flat-bottomed,
shallow craft with tapering ends decked over to serve as seats, the
whole propelled by a pole the size of a tight-rope dancer's and about as
difficult to handle.


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