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Updated: May 3, 2025
"Now, look here, lad," he said, changing the subject, "but do you know you've got an' oncommon ac'rate gun in this old weepon?" The boy smiled interested. "It's the salt of the earth," said Jack, "an' I'll bet it's stood 'twixt many a gentleman and death. Can you shoot true, little 'un?" "Only fairly can you?" "Some has been kind enough to give me that character" he said promptly.
'Tis over beyant ye'er left shoulder whin ye're facin' east. Jus' throw ye'er thumb back, an' ye have it as ac'rate as anny man in town. 'Tis farther thin Boohlgahrya an' not so far as Blewchoochoo. It's near Chiny, an' it's not so near; an', if a man was to bore a well through fr'm Goshen, Indianny, he might sthrike it, an' thin again he might not.
'But she wasn't a baby either, put in Mrs. Bower. 'She was four years; an' Lydia was four years older. 'Four years an' two months, said Mr. Boddy, nodding with a laugh. 'Let's be ac'rate, Mrs. Bower, ma'am. Thirteen year ago next fourteenth o' December, Mr. Ackroyd. There's a deal happened since then. On that day I had my shop in the Cut, and I had two legs like other mortals.
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