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Then he gave way to another of his joyous, deep-throated laughs. "No, sirree! Ther' ain't no troubles to this valley fer me. None. I got memories I wouldn't sell fer a farm. Them wer' days you didn't find trouble in nothin'. No. It's later on you see things diff'rent. Make good, an' you see troubles wher' there shouldn't be none.
What do you suppose I sent you abroad for, and gave you an education that few young men have received? Just to see you kicked out of your profession before you've fairly well put a foot into it, or a knife into a plutocrat, or a pill into a pauper? No, sirree, my boy. You sit tight and let the hangman do all the legal killing that has to be done."
"She po'ly, Marse Dave, an' she ain' nebber leabe dis year house. Marse Dave," said Lindy earnestly, lowering her voice and taking a step closer to me, "I done reckon de Mistis gwine ter die ob lonesomeness. She des sit dar an' brood, an' brood an' she use' ter de bes' company, to de quality. No, sirree, Marse Dave, she ain' nebber sesso, but she tink 'bout de young Marsa night an' day.
They say Grand 'as promised 'er a fine 'ome in Washington and will edicate Christine abroad, besides offering enough diamonds to fill a 'at. But she just despises 'im more and more every week. He'll never get 'er no sirree! Why, she just couldn't do it! 'T ain't in 'er! "Early this season he lent Tom five or six thousand, and Tom can't pay it back, I know, business 'as been so bad.
Let's try to make ourselves think we're really German soldiers and then other people will think so. We've got to act just like 'em." "If you mean we've got to murrderr that baby," said Archer; "no sirree! Not for mine!" "That ain't what I mean," said Tom. "You know Jeb Rushmore at Temple Camp? He came from Arizona.
No, sirree! The man-of-war slowed down her engines and came almost to a standstill. There was a sudden flash from one of her sponsons, a puff of smoke, and then the roar of a six-inch gun. The shell struck a palm not a hundred yards from where Jack was standing, and with a loud explosion took off the entire top as neatly as though a knife had sliced it.
"Do you think anything could ever Rec-om-pense make up, you know? Especially if you suffered? Please don't speak up quick, think, Jolly." "I'm a-thinkin'." Not to have 'em that would go, not go! Never to kite after Dennis O'Toole's ice-wagon an' hang on behind, nor see who'd get to the corner first, nor stand on your head an' wave 'em "No, sirree!" ejaculated Jolly, with unction, "nothin'."
Hill was so full of it he couldn't hold in to make a story. He just went right on blurting it out: "Do you boys know who that wife of Charley's was that blew in yesterday from Denver? I guess you don't! Well, I do she was the Sage-Brush Hen! Yes sirree," Hill said, so full of laugh he couldn't hardly talk plain; "that's just who she was!
"Yes sirree, I was there; nothin' but a youngster, but I was there!" he would assert. "There wasn't a single battle the Fo'th Kentucky Volunteers didn't get in on an' the Johnny Rebs would run like hell when they heard we were comin'. I tell you when we got them a goin' was at Fredericksburg in '62 must have been 'bout the middle of December.
Why," he continued, warming to his subject and seemingly ignorant of its myths, "I once seen a man ride into San Mercial with his face that white it wouldn't 'a' showed a chalk mark! And he was holdin' up his thumb like it was pizen which it was! And he was cuttin' for old Doc Struthers that fast his cayuse was sparkin' out of his ears. Bit by a hydrophoby skunk yes, sirree.
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