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“Sharpen these pencils, Moses, please, for the drawing lesson.” “Well, you know the other thing to do if you don’t like it,” Billy retorted, bluntly. “She’s my sister till her folks are found, and that isn’t likely.” Clarence had crossed the Pons Asinorum; a series of intoxicated circles, with sharp-cornered triangles piercing their fat sides, bore eloquent testimony to his faltering steps. “Arsk a dorg with a tin pail tied to his ear to smile at yer,” returned Moses, sourly..