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"Yes, Bill w'ich 'is full name is William; an' if 'e's sleepin' below I'd arsk yer to roust 'im out." "Oh," said the stout man slowly, "Bill, is it? Bill? Well, he's gone." "Gone?" "Aye; 'e's a rollin' stone, if you wants my pinion 'ere ter-day an' gone ter-morrow, as you might put it. There's plenty o' that sort knockin' around." "D'yer mean ter say as Bill's gone?"
"Well, I could do so onct," stated Cephus in the manner of one who formerly had followed rough-riding for a calling, "but leadin' a public life fur so long, lak I has, I ain't had much time fur private pleasures. 'Sides w'ich, ef I'm goin' sound the notes I'll be needin' both hands free fur my instermint." "Puzzactly the same thought w'ich came to me, jes' lak I'm tellin' it to you," agreed Cump.
Speak up, James Dutton you was a-leanin' over your front gate as Gaffer come drivin' 'ome, wasn't you, an' you see Gaffer plain as plain, didn't you?" "W'ich, me wishin' no offense, an' no one objectin' I did," began the Apology, perspiring profusely as usual, "but I takes the liberty to say as it were a spade, an' not a gate leastways "
"Well, Mister Stewart, I'll ap'int myself cook to our party, havin', if I may say so, a nat'ral talent that way, w'ich wos deweloped on my first voyage round the world, w'en our cook died of a broken heart so it's said 'cause the doctor knocked off his grog, and put him on an allowance o' lime juice."
Nix ar' a word thet causes sorrer an' suffering ter scores 'n' scores o' people, more or less generally more uv less than less o' more an' tharfore I nevyer feel it my duty, as a Christyun, ter set a bad example w'ich others may foller." Redburn glanced toward Anita, a quizzical expression upon his genial face.
An' she come into this ol' vault of a suller, an' she pointed to that ol' heap o' wood, an' she tol' me ter move it over ter that corner. An' I done so fer half an hour. An' I says to that blitherin' fool over there, who was workin' in that ol' wood-house, what the devil did she care w'ich corner the darned stuff was in?
She pointed to the paper. "Go on, please. 'Dear sir, a party as we will call W. B. 'as joined the company. W'ich is strange to say " "Who's he?" Sam looked up again, but Tilda's finger still pointed firmly. "'W'ich 'e too continues 'earty; but You-know-Oo is close after 'im; and so, dear sir, 'avin' 'eard of an Island called 'Olmness, we are off there to-morrow, and will let you know further.
"I'll order in supper at once," said Sam. "No you won't; not for five minutes any'ow. Well, 'ere we are and 'ow 'ave you three been gettin' along since I saw yer last?" "Oh, we're all right; but all the better for seein' you. That's understood." "W'ich I looks towards yer, and I likewise bows," said Tilda graciously. "But what's the matter?" she asked, glancing from one to the other.
The ship was wrecked on a coral reef, and the crew had to take to their boats, w'ich they did, an' got safe to land, but the land they got to wos an out-o'-the-way island among the Feejees, and a spot where ships never come, so they had to make up their minds to stop there."
'Tain't bin proned inter no Brer B'ar fer ter kotch Brer Rabbit. Hit sorter like settin' a mule fer ter trap a hummin'-bird. But Brer B'ar, he tuck'n got hisse'f inter some mo' trubble, w'ich it look like it mighty easy.
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