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"All the way up t' Haa'lem," answered the black man, cordially. "Climb aboa'd!" There was a loop of chain hanging down from the end-board of the truck. Johnnie guided a foot through it stirrup-wise and reared himself into an empty wagonbed. Then as the wheels began to turn, he faced round, knelt comfortably, and let Broadway swiftly drop behind.
After a while he came over and stood beside me. "It ain't right," he whispered. "Ah tell you, boy, it ain't right." "What's not right?" I asked. "De goin's on aboa'd dis ship." "What goings on?"
You get dlunk, fo'get switch, thlain lun off tlack; you swingee lante'n, yellee 'All aboa'd! you say, 'Jim Kli! what keepee Numbeh Eight? You sellee ticket, knockee down change. No good, lailway man! Me savvy you, all light." "Ye cross iv a limon peel and a case iv jandhers!" cried Mr.
"Boys, dey's a pest," he grumbled. "Dey didn't had ought to have boys aboa'd ship. No, sah. Cap'n Falk, he say so, too." The negro was looking at me so intently that I searched his words for some hidden meaning; but I could find none. "No, sah, boys am de mos' discombobulationest eveh was nohow. Yass, sah. Dey's been su'thin' happen aft. Yass, sah. Ah ain't gwine tell no boy, nohow. No, sah.
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