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I'se bery bad off fur 'baccer, I is, indeed, chile, an' de pay is mighty slow in dis house." "I have not a five-penny bit, Dinah, not one copper cent, if it were to save my life or yours." "Is dat ring of yours good guinea gole, honey?" asked the mercenary creature, leering at it. "It looks mighty bright and pretty, it does dat! But mebbe its nuffin but pinchbeck, after all."
I envied them their stolidity, which I explained to my own mind by the rush of the engulfing waters still swirling and singing knell of sudden doom in their ears. "Guv'nor," said one clown to me, "I seed my ole 'ooman go down afore my eyes, and I felt that grieved a'most as if I was agoin' down myself, and I chewed a bit o' baccer."
He jes' mak 'em bite off de heads o' baccer wurms; mysef I'd ruther tuk a lickin." "On Christmus Day, we'd git fiah crackahs an' drink brandy, dat wuz all. Dat day wuz only one we didn't wurk. On Saturday evenin's we'd mold candles, dat wuzn't so bad." "De happies' time o' my life wuz when Cap'n Tipton, a Yankee soljer cumed an' tol' us de wah wuz ober an' we wuz free. Cap'n.
Got all I want and we don't start for a fortnight." Swampy: "Can I git a bit o' meat?" Boss: "Naw! Don't kill till Saturday." Swampy: "Pint o' flour?" Boss: "Naw. Short ourselves." Swampy: "Bit o' tea or sugar, boss?" Boss: "Naw what next?" Swampy: "Bit o' baccer, boss. Ain't had a smoke for a week." Boss: "Naw. Ain't got enough for meself till the wagon comes out." Swampy: "Ah, well!
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