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I might have known he'd be up to something like that." "Dat's right, Mr. Chames." "Of course you may be mistaken." "Not me, Mr. Chames." "Anyhow, I shall be seeing him at dinner. I can get talking to him afterward. I shall soon find out what his game is." For the moment, Molly was forgotten. The old reckless spirit was carrying him away. This thing was a deliberate challenge.
So they followed Sarah as she led the way to a nearby cottage. "Dat's whar we libs, me an' Brutus and my sister, Nancy, her as takes in washin' six days in de week, an' teaches de infant class in Sunday school on de seventh day. Yuh see we done got a cabin in de rear where Nancy she washes. So we fits up one end fo' Brutus' playhouse, same as de white chillun dey hab playhouses in de yard.
Go on, Mag, draw de dope fer Slimmy. Dat's better dan tryin' to put one over on de swell guy. Dis'll make him squeal fer fair!" The Magpie produced a pencil and a piece of paper from his pocket, and laid them on the table in front of the Tocsin. "Dere youse are," he announced. "Help yerself, an' go to it, Mag!"
Bress de Lor', Nimbus, I'se gladder, I do b'lieve, fer what's come ter you dan yer be yerself. It'll do you a power of good you an' yours but what good wud it do if a poor crippled feller like me hed it? Not a bit. Jes' git him bread an' meat, Nimbus, dat's all. Oh, de Lord knows what he's 'bout, Nimbus. Mind you dat.
"One ting dat's all wrong wid dis world today," according to Andrew Moss, aged negro, as he sits through the winter days before an open grate fire in his cabin, with his long, lean fingers clasped over his crossed knees, "is dat dey ain no 'prayer grounds'. Down in Georgia whar I was born, dat was 'way back in 1852, us colored folks had prayer grounds.
Yes" Rouletta nodded happily "take him with you, 'Poleon out where things are clean and healthy and where he can get a new start. Oh, you make me very happy!" The woodsman laid a big hand gently over hers. In a low voice he murmured: "Dat's all I want, ma soeur to mak' you happy. If dat claim is wort' million dollar' it ain't too much to pay, but I'm scare' she's 'noder bum."
I will tell Miriam and Daniel and my husband." "Dat's right. Nechemyah, don't dance on de good lady's chair. Did you hear, Mrs. Hyams, of Mrs. Jonas's luck?" "No." "I won her eleven pounds on the lotteree." "How nice," said Mrs. Hyams, a little fluttered. "I would let you have half a ticket for two pounds." "I haven't the money." "Vell, dirty-six shillings! Dere! I have to pay dat myself."
"Dat's a mighty spry gemmen over to our house," he finally remarked. "Mr. Brent?" she flushed a little. "No-deedy! He's spry, too; but dis'n I'm talkin' 'bout jes' come." "Yes, I heard about him," she said. "A sort of hill-billy, isn't he?" "Now, how'd you heah dat?" the old fellow looked down at her. "He only got dar las' night!" "I don't remember somebody came by an' told Pappy, I reckon."
Make money on me? That ain't no fourteen words. That's nine words." "It is, hey?" the operator rejoined. "Quit yer kiddin'. Dat's fourteen words. Ditto marks don't go, see?" "You're a fresh young feller," said Abe, paying over fifty-four cents, "and I got a good mind to report you to the head office." The operator laughed raucously. "G'wan!" he said. "Beat it, or I'll sick de cops onter yer.
Looky here, didn't de line pull loose en de raf' go a-hummin' down de river, en leave you en de canoe behine in de fog?" "What fog?" "Why, de fog! de fog dat's been aroun' all night. En didn't you whoop, en didn't I whoop, tell we got mix' up in de islands en one un us got los' en t'other one was jis' as good as los', 'kase he didn' know whah he wuz?
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