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One fine morning, as I was looking about in the court-yard of our hotel, talking to the servant-gals, as was my reglar custom, in order to improve myself in the French languidge, one of them comes up to me and says, "Tenez, Monsieur Charles, down below in the office there is a bailiff, with a couple of gendarmes, who is asking for your master a-t-il des dettes par hasard?"
"'Well, I says, 'that ain't the sort of thing to be humpy about. "'Yes it is, he snaps back; 'it means that if I don't take precious good care I'll drift into being a blooming milkman, spending my life yelling "Milk ahoi!" and spooning smutty-faced servant-gals across area railings. "'Oh! I says, 'and what may you prefer to spoon duchesses?
"'Yes, he answers sulky-like; 'duchesses are right enough some of 'em. "'So are servant-gals, I says, 'some of 'em. Your hat's feeling a bit small for you this morning, ain't it? "'Hat's all right, says he; 'it's the world as I'm complaining of beastly place; there's nothing to do in it.
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