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Show LITTLE PUCK. "Hello, Heinze," said a man from Helena to Mark Murtaugh as he grappled with a bullet proof bun at the round table in the bakery annex a day or two ago. "Heard you were in town but haven't seen you till now." "There is goes again," said Murtaugh. "Every boob who leads a cheer or owns a band stops me on the street and begins to wonder if I don't want a reception like they gave Faug In Butte. On the square, this business is getting tiresome. I can't afford it. "Say, I went to Dillon a few years ago while that campaign was on, and the minute I stepped off the train three or four big rough-necks tossed me in the air, threw me in a hack and cheered me to the grandstand thlnkin' I was H' j, and it took me half an hour to convince t. a that I was a good American citizen and never had a relative up in front of Battery Dan. Either he has got to leave town or I have." Just then a smelter man from Anaconda waved over from another table and yelled, "Hollo old boy how did you leave Dis de Bar." "Go fell," said Murtaugh, and walked out to the street. |