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"W'y, sir, you say the word, and of course I'll do it!" he cried. "'Nothink by 'alves, is my motto! I'm your man, through thick and thin, live or die, I am!" In the meantime there was nothing to be done till towards sunset. My only chance now was to come again as quickly as possible to speech of Flora, who was my only practicable banker; and not before evening was it worth while to think of that.
Well, listen, dere's a Christmas tree of dem presents comin' to you ef ye tries any more of dis stuff. I'm in right in dis district, don't fergit it. Ye tink's I'm going to de Island? Wipe dat off yer memory, too. W'y, say, I kin git yer buttons torn off and yer shield put in de scrap heap by de Commish if I says de woid down on Fourteenth Street, at de bailiwick."
The chicken pie was baking and the strawberries were ready for the shortcake. "I've been wallerin' since the dew was off gittin' them berries an' vi'lets ayes!" said Aunt Deel, now busy with her work at the stove. "Aunt, you look as young as ever," I remarked. She slapped my arm and said with mock severity: "Stop that! W'y! You know better ayes!" How vigorously she stirred the fire then.
"It must 'ave bin a fire by the way I see yer run. W'y was yer runnin' so 'ard?" Then his face darkened. "I wonder 'ow the poor bloke feels, that fell down an' 'urt 'imself?" "D'ye think 'e knows enough ter give us away?" asked Chook, anxiously. "No fear," said Jonah. "I make the Ivy Street Push a present of that little lot."
We had sat in silence for a few minutes, when Julius suddenly ejaculated, "Uh huh! I knows w'y dis mare doan go. It des flash 'cross my reccommemb'ance." "Why is it, Julius?" I inquired. "Ca'se she sees Chloe." "Where is Chloe?" I demanded. "Chloe's done be'n dead dese fo'ty years er mo'," the old man returned.
"Weel, I dinna won'er at that!" returned Agnes with a little sigh. "Efter the w'y the maister behaved til ye, the laird cud ill lat ye gang there again. But what's he gaein' to du wi' ye, Maister Cosmo, gien a body micht speir 'at has nae richt to be keerious?" "He's sen'in' me to maister Simon," answered Cosmo. "I wuss I was gaein' tu," sighed Aggie.
"She 'ave a strong, determined w'y about 'er, has our Miss Maggie." If Mrs. Howland slept profoundly, poor Maggie could not close her eyes. She suddenly found herself surrounded by calamity. The comparatively small trials which she had thought big enough in connection with Aylmer House and Cicely and Merry Cardew completely disappeared before this great trouble which now faced her.
For some time they rode together in silence; but Quashy, who had overheard, the conversation, and was of a remarkably combative disposition, though the reverse of bad-tempered or quarrelsome, could not refrain from asking "W'y de Guv'mint not hab lots ob sojers an' pleece in de mountains to squash de raskils?"
'Oh, a house I know of, returned Herrick. 'But it was a public-house! cried the clerk only these were not his words. 'And w'y didn't you take the carpet there instead of trundling in a growler? 'I didn't want to startle a quiet street, said the narrator. 'Bad form. And besides, it was a hansom. 'Well, and what did you do next? inquired the captain. 'Oh, I went in, said Herrick.
"Spade-work!" shouted Peter, laying his huge black hand on Foster's shoulder, and giving him a squeeze that made him wince, "das not what I mean. Work! w'y you's done more'n a day's work in one hour, judging by de work ob or'nary slabes. No, das not it. What's wrong is dat you don't rightly understand your priv'leges. Das de word, your priv'leges. Now, look yar.
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