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Let me go I prithe." I had read that, "Let me go I prithe," in a novel, and it seemed to me to be the proper thing to say, though I couldn't hardly keep from laughing. "Prithe nothing," said the corporal. "What you got in that bustle?" said the corporal. "Bustle," I said, blushing so you could have touched a match to my face. "Why speak of such a thing in the presence of a lady.
"I want the garden I had latht year," insisted a decisive voice that preceded the tramp of determined feet over the attic stairs. "Where was it, son? I've forgotten." "In a corner of your vegetable garden. Don't you remember my raditheth were ripe before yourth were? Mother gave me a prithe for the firtht vegetableth out of the garden." "So she did. You beat me to it.
"But how can you be certain it will fetch a thousand guineas?" I interrupted. "I happen to know the man whoth going to buy it." He winked, and I understood. "A fortnight later there will be a thale of half-a-dothen, and the prithe will be gone up by that time." "And after that?" I said. "After that," he replied, rising, "the American millionaire!
"Mithter Jaggerth! Half a moment! My hown cuthen'th gone to Mithter Wemmick at thith prethent minute, to hoffer him hany termth. Mithter Jaggerth! Half a quarter of a moment! If you'd have the condethenthun to be bought off from the t'other thide at hany thuperior prithe! money no object! Mithter Jaggerth Mithter !"
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