Has he seen the--the--it ?" Anderson was holding to the stair-post for support.
"Not yet, but he says he understands we've got one here that ain't been _tagged_--that's what he said--'tagged.' What does he mean by that ?" "Why--why, don't you see?
Just as soon as he tags it, it's _it_.
Doggone, I wonder if it would make any legal difference if I tagged it first." "He's a queer-lookin' feller, Anderson.

Says he's in disguise, and he certainly looks like a regular scamp." "I'll take a look at him an' ast fer his badge." Marshal Crow paraded boldly into the kitchen, where the strange man was regaling the younger Crows with conversation the while he partook comfortably of pie and other things more substantial.
"Are you Mr.Crow ?" he asked nonchalantly, as Anderson appeared before him.
"I am.

Who are you ?" "I am Hawkshaw, the detective," responded the man, his mouth full of blackberry pie.
"Gee whiz!" gasped Anderson.

"Eva, it's the celebrated Hawkshaw." "Right you are, sir.

I'm after the kid." "You'll have to identify it," something inspired Anderson to say.
"Sure.