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But Roodyard Kipling's pothry is aisy. Ye can skip through it while ye're atin' breakfuss an' get a c'rrect idee iv th' current news iv th' day, who won th' futball game, how Sharkey is thrainin' f'r th' fight, an' how manny votes th' pro-hybitionist got f'r gov'nor iv th' State iv Texas. No col' storage pothry f'r Kipling. Ivrything fr-resh an' up to date. All lays laid this mornin'.
"S' long as they slinks beyond yonder greasewood, they lurks in safety. Plug 'em this side of her." "C'rrect," agreed the stranger. This brought them a season of comparative quiet. They even made out to smoke, and so were happy. Over near the hill the body of Indians had gone into camp and were taking it easy.
'That's your full an' c'rrect name, is it? "The shorthorn allows it is, an' surveys Dave in a woozy way like he ain't informed none of the meanin' of these yere manoovers. "'Did you-all come through Tucson with this name? asks Dave. "He says he does. "'An' wasn't nothin' said or done about it? demands Dave; 'don't them Tucson sports take no action? "He says nothin' is done.
He'd got it because he'd been to the Tonga Islands and used to yarn about them. Put 'Tonga Sam, Phil Boldrick's Pal at Danger Mountain, ult' add the 'ult, it's c'rrect. That'll find him. And write him these words, and if you ever see him say them to him 'Phil Boldrick never had a pal that crowded Tonga Sam."
"Where am I now?" he said. "Under the white pine, Phil." "That's right. Face me to the north." We did so. Minutes passed in silence. Only the song of the saw was heard, and the welting of the river. "Padre," he said at last hurriedly, "lift me up, so's I can breathe." This was done. "Am I facin' the big mill?" "Yes." "That's c'rrect.
This young lady, now, that come up with him last night, she said it was 'a dear old place an' she loved it a'ready. Them's her very words!" "Do tell!" "That's c'rrect, an' as I said before, when you're dealin' with educated folks, you're swimmin' in deep water with the shore clean out o' sight. Education was what ailed him." By a careless nod Mr.
"'That's c'rrect every time, says Enright; 'I mind bein' over back of Prescott once, an' up near timber-line, an' I can't b'ile no beans at all. I'm up that high the water is so cold when it b'iles that ice forms on it some. I b'iles an' b'iles on some beans four days, an' it don't have no more effect than throwin' water on a drowned rat.
They sa'nters off down the trail, arm in arm like, conversin' in low tones so Peets an' me never does hear what they says. When they's in what they takes to be the c'rrect p'sition, they stops an' looks back at me an' Peets. Bill turns to Jim like he's sayin': "'Thar's them two short-horns ag'in. I wonders if they ever aims to pull their freight, or do they reckon they'll pitch camp right yere?"
"Where am I now?" he said. "Under the white pine, Phil." "That's right. Face me to the north." We did so. Minutes passed in silence. Only the song of the saw was heard, and the welting of the river. "Padre," he said at last hurriedly, "lift me up, so's I can breathe." This was done. "Am I facin' the big mill?" "Yes." "That's c'rrect.
You wouldn't ha' used sich choice an' dainty langwidge 'fore you went away. Your speech has growed more c'rrect, more elegant, same as your dress." "My dress, Gid? What's the matter with my dress?" "Oh, yes," pursued Gideon.
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