He stopped his car. From newspaper pictures he knew that the speaker must be the notorious freelance preacher, Beecher Ingram, of whom Seneca Doane had spoken. Ingram was a gaunt man with flamboyant hair, weather-beaten cheeks, and worried eyes. In vague disquiet he started the car and mechanically drove on, while Gunch's hostile eyes seemed to follow him all the way. Now, of course, it's a fight between sound business and the destructive element, and we got to lick the stuffin's out of 'em when they challenge us, but doggoned if I see why we can't fight like gentlemen and not go calling 'em dirty dogs and saying they ought to be shot down.
Woman never can understand the different definitions of a word.
Depends on how you mean it. And it don't pay to be too cocksure about anything. They don't understand the complications of merchandizing and profit, the way we business men do, but sometimes I think they're about like the rest of us, and no more hogs for wages than we are for profits. Time to trot up to bed now. Hardly understand myself.