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"Very good-natured." "Yes; he's not very quick in temper, or anything else; he's what we call a slow-coach." "I hear he's a very correct officer, Captain Bridgeman." "Yes; I am not aware that he has ever been under an arrest."
"Do you hear that?" said the hare to a fox, who was standing near. "Could anyone even think that such a slow-coach could beat me in a race?" "It would be a good joke if he did," said the fox. "Do you wish to run a race? I will be the judge, if you care to have me." "That suits me well," answered the hare. "I am willing," said the tortoise.
Asia will have a spider-line of railway by and by, when the slow-coach proceedings of the East India Company have given something like form to the Bombay and Bengal projects; but at present the progress is miserably slow; and Bradshaw need not lay aside a page for the rich Orient for many years to come.
I had bought two sashes and a nice little stiletto for piercing eyelet-holes in my stays, trifles that I really did not want, so that I have less than that slow-coach Agathe, who is so economical, and hoards her money like a magpie. She had two hundred francs! And I have only one hundred and fifty! I am nicely punished; I could throw my sash down the well; it will be painful to me to wear it now.
Couldn't Dan see that Birdie was pretending? Didn't he know that she could skate by herself quite as well as he could? Never once during the evening did Dan make his escape, and never once did Nance go to his rescue. When they were taking off their skates to go home, Birdie whispered to her: "I believe I got old slow-coach going. Watch me make him smoke up for a treat!"
Shall we never have done with this carping at people who succeed? Are those who start and don't arrive any better than those who do arrive? Did not men always make all the money they had an opportunity to make? Must we always have the old slow-coach merchants and planters thrown up to us? Talk of George Washington and the men of this day! Were things any better because they were on a small scale?
"'Lord love yer political faith, General! said I, rising up and taking him firmly by the hand. "'Ye'll do for the Young America, that ye will! There'll be no more old-fogyism no more of the slow-coach school!
But when he found at the end of the week that I had made $15 where my slow-coach predecessor had made only ten, he cut the price down to twelve cents. I objected, but in the end swallowed my anger and, by putting on extra steam and working overtime, made $16 the next week. The boss examined the work very carefully, said it was good, paid my wages, and cut down the price to ten cents.
"Old Bloggs taught you the silly rigmarole you men call logic, but he didn't teach you woman's logic, that's plain. Don't you see what I've made you do, Master Wheatman?" "Not yet, Mistress Waynflete." "Poof, slow-coach! I've made you admit that you were going to say 'cross' but altered it, too late, to 'grave." "You outrun me with your nimble and practised wit," said I, smiling.
"I can handle it as easy as falling off a log!" he cried excitedly. "I know every State in the Union and then some. Of course, I hate to see old Shields go, but he is a slow-coach. I'll put it all over him! You'll see if I don't!" "I am not so sure about that," said Mr. Bangs. "Shields had the sense to do what he was told without arguing the matter." Quin laughed joyously.
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