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You turns the lock in your hand this'n ways the lock, mind now; not the key nor the bolt for your life, child, else you'd bolt your lady in, and there'd be my lady in Lob's pound, and there'd be a pretty kettle, of fish! So you keep, if you can, all I said to you in your head, if possible and you goes in there and I goes out here. Honor.
I've seed a heap o' Injun in my time; an' a lyiner old varmint than this'n I never seed yet. Ye heerd him jest now 'bout the other gals?" "Yes, true; he lied directly; but she she might have gone " "Not a bit o' it. Lyin's his trade. He's thur great medicine, an' humbugs the hul kit o' them. The gal is what they call Mystery Queen.
"What d'ye want to come back 'ere for, upsettin' Jin like this'n?" he blurted. "What the blazes have I done to upset Jin?" I asked. "Why didna y' bring 'er back wi' ye, then?" "Who's her, you jolt-head?" I demanded angrily. "That leddy o' yourn. Jin's that upset 'er wunna luk at me, an' we wor gettin' on fine." It was no use talking to Joe.
"Well," said he, as if considering the matter, "folk that are cranky, often take more to them as shows 'em love, than to them as is clever and gifted. Happen yo'd rather have this'n," opening a cage-door, and calling to a dull-coloured bird, sitting moped up in a corner, "Here Jupiter, Jupiter!"
"Well, when our ole horse died," Penrod said, "Papa said he wouldn't taken five hunderd dollars for him. That's how much HORSES are worth!" "My gracious!" Sam exclaimed. Then he had a practical afterthought. "But maybe he was a better horse than this'n. What colour was he?" "He was bay.
Ay, Philip, continued she, turning him round with motherly freedom, 'yo'll do if yo'll but gi' your shoon a polishin' wipe on yon other mat. This'n for takin' t' roughest mud off. Measter allays polishes on that. In the square parlour the same precise order was observed.
I tuk them for the same chaps I hed seed parley vooin' at the craps-table; an' tho't they wur only jokin', till one of them gin me a sockdolloger over the head, an' fired a pistol. I then drewed my bowie, an' the skrimmage begun; an' thet's all I know about it, cap'n, more'n yurself. "Let's see if it's all up with this'n," continued the hunter, stooping.
Said it would 'a' burnt 'er fingers. 'More fool yow, says I; 'it'd 'a' soon gotten cowd weather like this'n. But Jin's all rate. Er'll never bre'k 'er arm at church door, wunna Jin." I explained to Mistress Waynflete that a woman who broke her arm at the church door was a housewifely maiden who became a slatternly housewife after marriage.
"I DON'T!" And with that his voice went to a half-shriek. "Maybe you think I'm down here f'r my health; maybe you think I come out f'r a pleasant walk in the woods right now; maybe you think I ain't seen no other lady-friend o' yours besides this'n to-day, and maybe I didn't see who was with her yes, an' maybe you think I d'know no other times he's be'n with her.
"You've got him safe enough, mother," said I, "and it's no good cooking him since you can't eat him." "Be yow another stinking robber, like this'n?" she demanded. The epithet was as apt as it was vigorous, for the stink of singeing cloth made me sniff. "If y'be," she went on, "I'll shove' im in the fire and set about yow." "Not a bit of it, mother.
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