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"Yer white sun-bonnet plumb off an' a-hangin' down on yer shoulders, an' yer yaller hair all a-blowsin' at loose eends, stiddier bein' plaited up stiff an' tight an' personable, an' yer face burned pink in the sun, stiddier like yer skin ginerally looks, fine an' white ez a pan o' fraish milk, an' the flabby, slinksy skirt o' that yaller calico dress 'thout no starch in it, a-flappin' an' whirlin' in the wind shucks!
But it's either them or gulls a-flappin'." Cap'n Sproul's brown hands clasped the rope-wound telescope, and he trained its lens with seaman's steadiness. "It's them," he said, with a chuckle of immense satisfaction. They're hoppin' up and down on the high ridge, and slattin' their arms in the air. It ain't no joy-dance, that ain't. I've seen Patagonian Injuns a war-dancin'. It's like that.
"Here's what that cut in his arm means," shouted a miner who had struck a light on the trail; "there's a finger-mark, done in blood on the snow, by the side of the trail, an' a-pintin' right to that ledge; an' here's his shirt a-flappin' on a stick stuck in a snow-bank lookin' t'ward camp."
Just another Volstead duckling, Rolling in the gutter chuckling: "Over seas of milk and water, Angels' wings a-flappin', Now we're purified and holy, Things like me can't happen. Liquor's gone and gone forever Even the word is lewd: Otherwise there's somethin' makes me Feel like I was stewed." IV Finale A Short Interview with the Human Stomach
If you time 'em a mile in 1:40 at home, they'll do it when the colors is up, an' the silk a-flappin' all about 'em in the race. "Whoa! Hold still, you brute! Steady, steady! Whoa!" This to Diablo, for while talking he had adjusted the weight cloth with the gentleness of a cavalier putting a silk wrap about his lady love's neck, and had put a fold of soft woolen cloth over the high-boned wither.
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