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I do' member a few lak 'Shoo, Fly', 'Old Dan Tucker', an' 'Run, Nigger, Run, de Pateroller Catch You. I don' 'member much o' de words. I does 'member a little o' 'Old Dan Tucker. It went dis way: 'Old Don Tucker was a mighty mean man, He beat his wife wid a fryin' pan. She hollered an' she cried, "I's gwineter go, Dey's plenty o' men, won't beat me so."
'Did they pot y', Jim? 'Nicked my shoulder, I guess. 'Where you goin'? 'To town. 'Man, says Simmie, 'you've lost a lot o' blood. 'Got a little left, Simmie. "Then John Fryin' Pan c'm along. Simmie tried to ride to town with Laramie f'r fear he'd fall off his horse. Laramie wouldn't let neither of 'em do a thing. 'This is my fight, he says.
They came at last to a large log house, the Pitt homestead, and had unharnessed the horses before Warren and Nancy came within sight. A tall woman, followed by a score of children of all sizes, came out to meet them. "They ain't all mine," said the old man. "Them as looks about fryin' size belongs to the folks over the creek.
Ye know it wasn't a minit arter that fifth needle broke, leavin' the bigger half stickin' under the nail of my forefinger, afore both of the pups was goin' out through the door there as ef the devil was arter 'em with a fryin' pan, and a chair a leetle behind him. But a man can't stand everything, ef he be a Christian man and workin' away to git a Christmas sign ready; can he, Bill?"
They lives way down in the water the while they have fraids over the rubber-neck-boat- birds. Say, what you think? Sooner a rubber-neck-boat-bird needs he should eat he longs down his neck und eats a from gold fish." "'Out fryin'?" asks Eva, with an incredulous shudder. "Yes, 'out fryin'. Ain't I told you little girls could to have fraids over 'em?
Th' r-rich 'll inthrajoose novelties. P'raps they'll top off a fine dinner with a little hasheesh or proosic acid. Th' time'll come whin ye'll see me in a white cap fryin' a cocktail over a cooksthove, while a nigger hollers to me: 'Dhraw a stack iv Scotch, an' I holler back: 'On th' fire. Ye will not." "That's what I thought," said Mr. Hennessy. "No," said Mr. Dooley.
"Now, look here, Mass' George," he cried, excitedly; "you'n me got to kill dat 'gator." "Yes," I said, "I must lie in wait and shoot him." "I tink so. What did he come in young mass' bath for? I go fetch um gun now." "No, no," I said. "It would be no use." "No," said Pomp, thoughtfully, and then showing his teeth; "too busy fryin' um dinner. Oh, Mass' George, what a bit ob fun!"
Well, brother, Nance snorted right out thar, an' Polly Ann Sturgill's hand riz up jes once; an' I've heerd Jeb Somers say the next time he jumps out o' the Fryin' Pan he's a-goin' to take hell-fire 'stid o' Cutshin fer a place to light. Stranger, you furriners don't nuver seem to consider that a woman has always got the devil to fight in two people at once!
Well, if them Indians had caught you fryin' your supper, you'd have got as well acquainted with the next world in just about three quarters of an hour. Well, we've all got to foot it now; but it ain't far. I'm powerful anxious to know what's goin' on over to Sanchez'! Mebbe two tribes met and them's the victors offerin' up the tail end of that there valiant army.
"'Den Brer Rabbit, he holler back, he did: I'm a gitten me out a roas'n-piece, sezee. "'Roas'n, er bakin', er fryin', sez Brer Fox, sezee, 'don't git too nigh de haslett, sezee. "Dey cut en dey kyarved, en dey kyarved en dey cut, en w'iles dey wuz cuttin' en kyarvin', en slashin' 'way, Brer Rabbit, he tuck'n hacked inter de haslett, en wid dat down fell de cow dead.
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