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"Well but, Monsieur le count, is it not CRUEL to kill the poor fellows notwithstanding?" "Pooh!" replied the count, throwing back his head, and puffing out his cheeks as when a cigar sucker explodes a cataract of smoke from the crater of his throat; "cruel! vat cruel for kill-a de soldier! by gar, Monsieur le colonel, you make-a de king of France laugh he hear-a you talk after dat fashong.
"Where I-a da sleep?" asked Tony quickly. "In that room up there on the second floor, at the end of the porch." "And where I-a da eat?" he asked again. "Why, with us, of course," said Joe Williams. "Then I stay-a da mont and do-a da work, and when I get-a da through, we make-a da barg.
"I understand-a da work," replied Tony, "and I like-a da live in-a da country, if you no-a make-a me sleep in-a da barn." "Where do you come from?" asked Bob. "From Italia. My fader, he-a da contracdisto and I learn-a da mase and-a da carpendero." "Well, why didn't you stay in Italy?" asked Bob.
Why, the rag would have the police arrest Edyth arrest her for " "Well," demanded a sharp, aggressively pitched voice, "what for you make-a da blame, eh? Da cops pinch-a Spatola, and for why, eh? Because he's da wop, da Ginney, da Dago and got-a no friends."
"That it did," she answered; "he sent for Doctor Sanford and tells him, 'Me killa de big bird, me eat-a de big bird, de big bird make-a me seek." "Them Dagoes 'bout the funniest talking folks they is," said Jimmy, "but they got to talk that way 'cause it's in the Bible.
"You want to chain your bear up tighter, Tony," chided the hotel man as the Italian led Bruno away. "Ah, yes. Bruno, he ees a very bad-a-de bear! I wheep heem for dese." "Oh, don't!" pleaded Alice. "He didn't mean anything wrong." "No, mees, but he very bad, just-a de same. He make-a you to be a-skeert." "Oh, it's all over now," declared Ruth, who ventured out, seeing that the bear was in leash.
The next morning Bob had his chores and milking done by six o'clock and by six-thirty he was out at the new hen house, where he was joined by Tony. "Good-a morn, Mr. Bob," smiled Tony. "This-a the day we make-a da concrete fast." "That's what we will," replied Bob. "Get some cement, Tony, and we'll start the mixer going right away."
"I," he was saying, "am Pietro Moresco. I have-a da nice political posish, an' nice-a barber-shop on Mulberry-a Strit. Some-a day I getta on da force da pollis-force. Sure t'ing. I been-a home to see ma moth. I go-a back to make-a da more mon." He pulled out from his corded bundle of red quilts and coats and rugs some bottles of cheap wine. "I getta place for all you men."
One day out, dey'll make-a da camp and go for squint t'rough spy-glass, so" making an imaginary transit telescope of his hands. "Den dey'll measure h-on da groun' and squint some more, so." Penfield nodded and a gold piece changed hands silently. "That's all, 'Checo; much obliged. Don't say anything about this over in the camp. Mr.
"It gets me," Trotter said. "The dog's a danger. 'E ought to be drownded." The Signor snarled. "An' us?" he demanded. "We go to work, eh? You pick da grass-a to make-a da hay and me I drive-a da cart, eh? Oh, Trottair, you fool!" "'Ere, let's 'ave some grub and stow the jaw for a bit," said Trotter.
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