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"Noa," drawled the carpenter; "Muster Bubbage beant here; doan't want un, nuther nuvver do moind a's owen business always jawin' volks. A beant here, an' doan't want un, nuther." Nick's heart went down. "And where is he?" "Who? Muster Bubbage? Whoy, a be-eth out to Zhoreditch, a-playin' at t' theater." "And where may Shoreditch be?" "Whur be Zhoreditch?" gaped the workman, vacantly.
Poor Effie! can ye tell me now really, wi' a' your law, will her life be in danger, Mr. Saddletree, when they arena able to prove that ever there was a bairn ava?" "Whoy," said Mr.
"Look at, them, now," said the sexton of St. Hubert's. "See how he grasps her hand; and how, as he whispers his soft, insinuating flattery in her ear, she blushes and smiles upon him. Damnation!" "Whoy, John!" exclaimed Dame Ellis; "what would the rector say to hear thee? Thou art surely distraught."
Now we thought that we might just as well give your boat a turn and have your son and yourself to work it. I suppose she is fit to go that distance?" "Fit! whoy she be fit to go to 'Meriky! The Downs ain't more'n hunder and twenty mile. With a good breeze she would do it in a day. By to-morrow afternoon we'd be ready to make a start if the wind slackens." "To-morrow afternoon!
Muggeridge, who used to see to loading up the cart. Children are very perverse in their perception of the relative importance of things they are told, and Dave was enormously impressed with Mr. Muggeridge. Silent analysis of the model was visible on his face for awhile, and then he broke out into catechism: "Whoy doesn't the wheel-sacks come down emptied out?" said he.
I'll dance a round with her myself in the hall at night." "Theere now, Meg, whoy dunna ye may t' squoire a curtsy, wench, an thonk him," said Tetlow, nudging his pretty wife, who had turned away, rather embarrassed by the free gaze of the squire. Nicholas, however, did not wait for the curtsy, but went away, laughing, to overtake Richard Assheton, who had walked on.
"Thin, be jabers, I'm sorry for thim, for there's a good manny miles bechuxt here and Cape Town, and I'm afraid they'll be mortial hungry before they get there. For I'm goin' to help mesilf to everything ateable that the barque carries, and so ye may tell the skipper bad cess to him for a mismanagin' shpalpeen! Whoy didn't he lay in stores enough to carry him to the ind of his v'yage?
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