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My father does not understan' me, you saw, Monsieur, he does not appreciate that is the Engleesh. Mon Dieu, you saw it this night. I, who spik to you, am made for a courtier, a noble. I have the gift. La Louisiane she is not so big enough for me." He lowered his voice still further, and bent nearer to me. "Monsieur, I run away to France. My cousin the Marquis will help me.
Hey, hey? Ugglees-tone. Ma foi, you Monsieur Jonas Ugglees-tone?" "No, sir; I am his son," said Bigley. "What say, sare, you Monsieur Jonas Ugglees-tone, you b'long?" "Yes, sir; I belong to him. Will you give us something to eat?" "Aha! You Engleesh boys, big garcon, always hungries. Vais; come aboard my sheeps. Not like your papa oh, no. I know him mosh, very mosh.
"But, Monsieur le count," said Laurens to D'Estang, "the American officers say they are afraid you have given the English too long time to think." At this, as Laurens told us afterwards, the count put on a most comic stare, and breaking into a hearty laugh, replied, "De Engleesh think! ha, ha, ha! By gar dat one ver good parole! De Engleesh tink, heh, Monsieur le colonel!
You me understand? Hundred francs pay! pay! pay!" At each repetition of the last word he brought down a dirty fist into the palm of the opposite hand immediately under Quelch's nose. "Hundred francs Engleesh money, four pound." Quelch caught the last words, and was relieved to find that it was merely a money payment that was demanded of him.
It is yours, I think?" "This?" Mademoiselle Chiron touched the handkerchief with a dainty forefinger. "It is my handkerchief. I dropped it." "It is very pretty," said Rolfe, with simulated indifference. "I suppose you bought that in Paris. It does not look English, "But no, monsieur, it is quite Engleesh. I bought it in the shop." "Indeed! A London shop?" inquired Rolfe, with equal indifference.
Well den, now, Monsieur le colonel, you hear-a me speak my French-a-mans eat dem Jack Engleesh all same like vun leetle frog." "Oh to be sure! no doubt of all that, Monsieur le count but before we eat them up, they may kill a great many of our soldiers." "Dey kill-a de soldier!" replied the passionate count "well what den if dey do kill-a de soldier!
When we had concerts he used to give us clever imitations of the late Harry Fragson in his "Margarita" and other varieties, to the accompaniment of the mouth-organ band. He used to say: "Ze Engleesh soldier très bon ze French soldier bon mais ze Allemand no bon!" On one occasion he told us: "Après la guerre, ze Engleesh soldier beaucoup admirers ladees! Ze French soldier admirers, too.
Drop anchor alongside me and do it quick or I'll take your license away from you. And I don't want any of your excuses, either. I won't listen to 'em." "What he say?" the captain asked me. "I not onderstan' hees Engleesh ver' good." "No, you wouldn't," I told him. "He's speaking a sort of patois, you see.
Those under military age shrieked at the top of their shrill little trebles Engleesh Tipperary Biskeet Biskeet Souvenir. We have never understood the cry of "Biskeet." The fat little fellows were obviously well nourished. Perhaps, dog-like, they buried their biscuits with a thought for the time when the English should be forgotten and hunger should take their place as something very present.
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