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"He's down in his saloon; he sed if you showed up, an' asked fer him, ter tell yer that's whar he'd be." "He told you that? He expected me to show up then?" "I reckon as how he did," and Timmons grinned in drunken good humour. "He's pretty blame smart, Bill Lacy is; he most allars knows whut's goin' ter happen." He leaned over the desk and lowered his voice.
"The heft o' manidgment falls on Betsy an' Miss Abby, fur Jane hain't no more faculty then a grasshopper. Lucy, don't eat with yer fingers lak a niggah. Whut's yer knife fur, ef it ain't to eat with? I wuz ovah there last spring, 'long in April or May, an' axed Jane ef she'd got her soap grease made up.
Among reading people generally, South as well as North, to name him is to conjure up a tall, slouching figure in homespun, who carries a rifle as habitually as he does his hat, and who may tilt its muzzle toward a stranger before addressing him, the form of salutation being: "Stop thar! Whut's you-unses name? Whar's you-uns a-goin' ter?"
And now, I reckon as how it's got ter be Injuns." "Whut's got ter be Injuns?" "Why thet outfit whut runs off with her, of course. I reckon you fellers will stand in all right ter help pull me out o' this hole?" Long Pete nodded. "Well, Pete, this is 'bout whut's got ter be done, es near es I kin figger it out.
'Has I retched my age, says ol' Mis' Scarlett, 'to have his fowls ruinin' my gyardin', an' him whut's a dunghill rooster himself flyin' ovah my fences unbeknownst? "'If there evah was a leather-hided ol' hen ripe foh roastin' on Beelzebub's own griddle, it's you, you gallows ol' witch! says Doctor, shakin' 'is fist up at her. "'Aha! I got a plain case! says ol' Mis', grim-like.
Chile, you don't know nothin' 'bout lovin' yit. Now, I says toe you, whut's ther use? Thass hit, Miss Ma'y Ellen, whut's ther use?" "I wish, Sam," said Franklin one morning as he stopped at the door of the livery barn "I wish that you would get me up a good team. I'm thinking of driving over south a little way to-day." "All right, Cap," said Sam. "I reckon we can fix you up. How far you goin'?"
Amanda, small as she was, looked firm and determined, and he knew by experience that he was no match for her. "'Tain't fer you to be astin' me whut's de matter," he began significantly. "De glove's on de other han'." "Whut you 'sinuatin', nigger?" cried Amanda, now thoroughly roused. "I's tired layin' heah under dis heah spell," complained Gordon Lee.
We clim' up on the fence, jest like my granddaddy an' my daddy had done, an' I cried out, 'Whut's the trouble now? The drums stopped, an' one of the men raised his flag up high an' shouted, 'The country is a splittin' up an' the Union needs soldiers. An' I says, 'Come on, boys. I can look back now, Jedge, an' see that little woman a standin' under a tree a wavin' us a good-bye with an old flag.
"Thank you," said Hale gravely. "I won't." They found larkspur, too "'Blue as the heaven it gazes at," quoted Hale. "Whut's 'gazes'?" "Looks." June looked up at the sky and down at the flower. "Tain't," she said, "hit's bluer." When they discovered something Hale did not know he would say that it was one of those "'Wan flowers without a name."
The boys looked with big eyes an' the old man clim' up on the fence and shouted, 'whut's the matter here? and a man with red, white an' blue ribbons on his arm cried out, 'Old Andy Jackson needs soldiers to go to New Orleans. An' my grandaddy he turns roun' to the youngsters an' says, 'Come on boys. They went, suh, an' one of them boys he didn't come back.
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