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We know that Jacob" this was a free negro who served my uncle, a relic of the old domestic system of the colonies, whose name would have been Jaaf, or Yop, thirty years before "has gone to our banker's for letters and papers; and that naturally draws our thoughts to the other side of the Atlantic.
"No, he is not! He has noble impulses ragpicking inspired! His eyes were misty when he spoke of it "A way out of Butterfly Thenter! "A ragpicker's cart "A way out " Petticoat held her up. "You seem a bit gone on that tin-type fellow, Sproggins." "Yop. Maybe I'd better go to Atlantic Thity for a while." "Oh, no, you stay here. A lady's place is in the home." So she was fairly thrown at Porgie.
Now you must meet the bunch. They're all down here to meet their husbands or something just as good. Now you behave yourself." "Yop." She had a grip on herself. She was ready to kiss and be friends with them all. But she was scared at the rackety pack who ballyhooed like Coney Island and surged down upon her like a Niagara Falls.
Yop, or Jaap, or Jaaf, rose tottering, made a low obeisance, and then answered in the semi-respectful, semi-familiar manner of an old, confidential family servant, as the last existed among our fathers: "T'ank 'ee, Miss Dus, wid all my heart," he answered. "Pretty well to-day; but ole Sus, he fail, and grow ol'er and ol'er desp'ate fast!"
"It was that new Goodyear that I was tracking, the one that's all crisscross." "You tracked it past the East road? So they didn't turn down there? Sure?" "Yop." "That's enough. Let's see her step, Jim." Jim "soaked it to her" and she stepped. Not a bit of fuss did she make over it. Just stepped. A silent, fleet step, like the step of a deer.
Jimmie, words failing him for the moment, paused and hooked one foot comfortably behind the other. He leaned hipshot against the doorjamb, and spat accurately through a knothole in the bunkhouse floor. "Yop," he went on, ramming his quid into the angle of his jaw, "and he's always admiring himself in the mirror, Racey is.
That's what this club is for, to help us to find ourselves, to give our restlessness an outlet to express the ego in our cosmos and illumine the dark patches of our souls. We're riding the pace that kills, living at the tension that snaps, blowing the bubble that breaks. We need an outlet a vent you understand?" "Yop," said Warble, "your soul pressure is too high."
We all did hear something that very instant. No one could help hearing it. It was the strangest sound, as much like the sawing of wood as anything I can think of. Except that toward the end of the stroke it seemed to run into some tough knots in the wood, for it made two or three funny, little noises, like "yop, yop, yop."
"Dis ist charmin' day, frients," said uncle Ro, placing himself coolly on a log of wood that had been hauled for the stove, and wiping his brow. "Vat might you calls dis coontry?" "Dis here?" answered Yop, not without a little contempt. "Dis is York Colony; where you come from to ask sich a question?" "Charmany. Dat ist far off, but a goot coontry; ant dis ist goot coontry too."
The Onondago never would work, however, and I have heard my father say, great was his happiness when he found he was to pass the remainder of his days in otium cum dignitate, and without the necessity of making baskets." "Yop is looking at us; had we not better go up at once and speak to them?" "Yop may stare the most openly, but my life on it the Indian sees twice as much.
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