I stepped to the side like the world's worst matador and grabbed him in a front facelock. It was the only shoot hold I knew, one that harkened back to my days bouncing at Malarkey's in Calgary.

More dear […] than younglings to their dam.

pretty good to coolamundo

His low-cut shirt-collar and narrow silken neck-tie were in the style called English, as quite decidedly, also, were his cross-barred trousers of balloony build; nor, although thus flinging himself for diversion into the vortex of the lower crowd, had he foregone the luxury of tan-colored kid gloves and patent-leather shoes.