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Champney's hearty laugh rang out with no uncertain sound. "Seen her! I should say so. She's worth any 'primy donny', as you call them, that ever drew a good silver dollar out of my pockets. Oh, it's too good to keep! I must tell you; but you'll keep mum, Uncle Jo?" "Mum's the word, ef yer say so, Champ." They turned from The Greenbush and arm in arm paced slowly up the street again.
He nudged him with a sharpened elbow and whispered mysteriously: "Devil of a feller, Champ! I've heerd tell, I've heerd tell chip of the old block, eh?" He nudged him knowingly again. "Oh, we're all devils more or less, we men, Uncle Jo; now, honor bright, aren't we?" "You've hit it, Champ; more or less more or less. I heerd you was a-goin' it strong: primy donny suppers an' ortermobillies "
When she sung Cumin threw the Rye, and spoke of that Swayne she deerly luvd herself individooully, I didn't wish I was that air Swayne. No I gess not. I don't meen this. She karries the Belt. Thar's no draw fite about it. Other primy donnys may as well throw up the spunge first as last. My eyes don't deceive my earsite in this matter. But Miss Patty orter sing in the Inglish tung.
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