Beadle's Dime Novels No. 305: The Girl Scout — page 15: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

JENNIE IN A PET. 19 “T'll take him into the stable, thank you. Cub and I are g0o0d friends, and have passed many a happy hour in each Other’s company, if I do ride man-fashion. Urrrrh! How mad it makes me when I think of Rod Phelps. Mister Car- roll! IL could tear his eyes out!” She led her horse, a noble black, over sixteen hands high, marked with a white star in the forehead, into the stable and gave him-a feed. Maud accompanied her, and the two came back intertwined in girlish fashion, talking merrily of the strange introduction of Gaston Foix. “Tf jike hit,” said Jennie, vivaciously, her gray eyes flash- ing with enjoyment. “ He is handsome and polite, and oh— so delightfully wicked! Say what you will, Maud, we girls like a man who has a spice of the devil—excuse the word— in his composition. I am of age—I can speak for myself, and I say that this is true.” “But you say that Mr. Foix is wicked. When you say that, what do you mean ?” “T mean what I say. He is wicked, wicked, wicked |! He plays poker and always wins. He rides like a centaur— you see I have not forgotten my Ancient History—and dances like an angel. He can play any instrument from a jews-harp to an organ, and any game from push-pin to King Faro. And, last not Jeast—he knows how to talk to a Woman.” a “ But, Jennie, this not like you. I am sure you can not Uphold any one so vicious as you say your cousin is.” ‘Who says be is vicious? He isa darling and can shoot -why—he taught me to shoot and I can snuff a candle at twelve paces with &® Common Derringer. What do you say to that? Oh, crickey.! There comes your father and a fellow with a mustache, Jsv’t he a duck ?° Who is he— who is he? Why don’t I know him, with such aimustache as that? Tell me his name, quick !” “ Be quiet, you madcap,” said Maud. “I don’t know who he is.” , Old Jess advanced at a swinging pace with his rifle in the hollow of his arm, and a broad grin irradiating his face. “Ef thar ain’t my little Tom-boy, Jennie Carroll,” he Cried. “See yer, youngster, ef you want to know a gal that kin outshvot, outrun and cutride any man in Minnesoter, Ccommicoooks. com