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"Look at Jo!" derided Squinty, an old friend of the girl's in many a half-remembered camp. "Hey, youse plugs, gadder 'round here and lamp Jerkline Jo dollin' up! Good night!" "Beat it now!" Jo reiterated. "Say, dis here's good!" retorted Squinty. "I to't youse was a reg'lar woman, Jo! Youse know more 'bout cuffin' ole Jack an' Ned dan youse do 'bout fixin' yer hair.
Then I goes home, not sure whether I'd set the scene for an ear cuffin', or had plugged him in on a through wire. It's all wrong, Percy, all wrong. Somebody's been and rung in a revise on this Romeo dope, and here we find ourselves tryin' to make the Cupid Express on a canceled time-card. What do I mean we? Why, me and Mr. Robert. Ah, there you go! No, not Miss Vee. She's all right don't worry.
My brothers an' sisters 'ceptin' of Polly was putty nigh as bad in respect of cuffs an' such like; an' my step-marm was, on the hull, the wust of all. She hadn't no childern o' her own, an' it appeared 's if I was jest pizen to her. 'T wa'n't so much slappin' an' cuffin' with her as 't was tongue. She c'd say things that 'd jest raise a blister like pizen ivy.
"Nonsense," he cried, leaning forward and playfully slapping Louis on the back with his sword. "This good Cuffin has a friendly face and can take a joke. Can't you, old rabbit?" Louis winced and then grinned as Tristan gasped in anger. "I thank Heaven I have a sense ot humour," he said, with a sly glance at his companion. Villon went on with his story.
But she takes it out in cuffin' the yearlin's now an' then, jest to keep 'em yellin', an' don't say nothin'. "Which the stage is about half through the canyon, when up on both sides a select assortment of Winchesters begins to bang an' jump permiscus; the same goin' hand-in-hand with whoops of onusual merit.
My sister Polly was 'sponsible more 'n any one, I guess, an' the only one o' the whole lot that ever gin me a decent word. Small farmin' ain't cal'lated to fetch out the best traits of human nature an' keep 'em out an' it seems to me sometimes that when the old man wa'n't cuffin' my ears he was lickin' me with a rawhide or a strap.
The old woman turned to an ash-colour, leant on her besom, and gasped. "William Henry!" "I'm not drunk, mother: been a Band of Hope these dozen years." He stepped down the slope to her and bent his head low. "Box my ears, mother, quick! You used to have a wonderful gift o' cuffin'." "William Henry, I'm bound to do it or die." "Then be quick about it."
Was anyone ever kind to you?" "I dunno. I suppose so." "What would you call being kind to you?" "Not scoldin' or cuffin' me." "If I didn't scold or strike you, would you think I was kind, then?" She nodded; but after a moment's thought, said, "and if you didn't look as if you hated to see me round." "Do you think I've been kind to you?" "Kinder'n anybody else.
We care not a straw for the limbs of the law, Nor a fig for the cuffin queer; While Hodge and his neighbour shall lavish and labour, Our tent is as sure of its cheer. CHORUS. So the king to his hall, etc. They say it is sweet to win the meat For the which one has sorely wrought; But I never could find that we lacked the mind For the food that has cost us nought!
We care not a straw for the limbs of the law, Nor a fig for the cuffin queer; While Hodge and his neighbour shall lavish and labour, Our tent is as sure of its cheer. CHORUS. So the king to his hall, etc. They say it is sweet to win the meat For the which one has sorely wrought; But I never could find that we lacked the mind For the food that has cost us nought!
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