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"Maman, don't, don't!" he said weakly; then gathering strength from the silence, he burst forth: "Yaas, I 'm goin' away to work. I 'm tired of dis, jus' dig, dig, work in de fiel', nothin' to see but de cloud, de tree, de bayou. I don't lak' New Orleans; it too near here, dere no mo' money dere. I go up fo' Mardi Gras, an' de same people, de same strit'. I'm goin' to Chicago!"
"You will have to see the municipal authorities about that, Mr. Poquelin." A bitter smile came upon the old man's face: "Pardon, Monsieur, you is not le Gouverneur?" "Yes." "Mais, yes. You har le Gouverneur yes. Veh-well. I come to you. I tell you, strit can't pass at me 'ouse." "But you will have to see" "I come to you. You is le Gouverneur. I know not the new laws. I ham a Fr-r-rench-a-man!
"I want you tell Monsieur le Président, strit can't pass at me 'ouse." "Have a chair, Mr. Poquelin;" but the old man did not stir. The Governor took a quill and wrote a line to a city official, introducing Mr. Poquelin, and asking for him every possible courtesy. He handed it to him, instructing him where to present it. "Mr.
Dat lil' cloud, h'it look lak' rain, I hope no. "Here come dat lazy I'ishman down de strit. I don't lak' I'ishman, me, non, dey so funny. One day one I'ishman, he say to me, 'Auntie, what fo' you talk so? and I jes' say back, 'What fo' you say "Faith an' be jabers"? Non, I don' lak I'ishman, me! "Here come de rain! Now I got fo' to go. Didele, she be wait fo' me. Down h'it come!
Cable's 'Old Creole Days, and the thrilling force with which he gave the forbidding of the leper's brother when the city's survey ran the course of an avenue through the cottage where the leper lived in hiding: "Strit must not pass!"
Cable's 'Old Creole Days, and the thrilling force with which he gave the forbidding of the leper's brother when the city's survey ran the course of an avenue through the cottage where the leper lived in hiding: "Strit must not pass!"
"To me; Jean Poquelin; I hown 'im meself." "Well, sir?" "He don't billong to you; I get him from me father." "That is perfectly true, Mr. Poquelin, as far as I am aware." "You want to make strit pass yond'?" "I do not know, sir; it is quite probable; but the city will indemnify you for any loss you may suffer you will get paid, you understand." "Strit can't pass dare."
What did that mean; more news; news bad for these five in particular? Silently in each of them, without a glance from one to another, the question asked itself. "The True Delta," remarked Anna to Miranda, "is right down here on the next square," and of his own motion the driver turned that way. "Bitwin Common Strit and Can-al," added Victorine, needless words being just then the most needed.
"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."
Fr-rench-a-man have something aller au contraire he come at his Gouverneur. I come at you. If me not had been bought from me king like bossals in the hold time, ze king gof France would-a-show Monsieur le Gouverneur to take care his men to make strit in right places. Mais, I know; we billong to Monsieur le Président. I want you do somesin for me, eh?" "What is it?" asked the patient Governor.