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"Just thin Morgan O'Toole come in, an' laned over th' ba-ar. He's been a dillygate to ivry town convention iv th' Raypublicans since I dinnaw whin. 'Well, says he, 'I see they're pilin' it on, he says. 'On th' dead? says I, be way iv a joke. 'No, he says; 'but did ye see they're puttin' up a monnymint over th' rebils out here be Oakwoods? he says.
'Ten Nights in a Ba-ar Room'" the captain took the pipe out of his mouth and yawned with affected unconcern. "I've heered o' worse names for a show; but ye know what women-folks is when there 's any play-actin' around. They're jest like sheep next to a turnip patch." "Are they?" "Oh, by clam! ye don't know nothin' 'bout female grass yit, major nothin'. Bars can't shet 'em out."
I come here to see 'Ten Nights in a Ba-ar Room, I didn't come here t' see contortioners and recitationers. Give us any more o' yer " Here, an onion, thrown from the rear of the room by some sympathetic partner in Captain Pharo's woes, came whizzing over our heads and just missed the woman, by good aim; she retreated without the formality of her usual sweeping bow.
Captain Pharo and Uncle Coffin, not yet comprehending this idea, and smoking triumphantly with their hats on, listened to several ranting recitations from the wife who had so inopportunely defaced her husband's visage; but when, after a brief recess, she again appeared with a stage bow, Captain Pharo looked blankly at Uncle Coffin. "Where 's the ba-ar, Coffin?"
Nawthin' was too good f'r th' kid. He had nurses an' servants to wait on him. He had clothes that'd stock this ba-ar f'r a year. Whin he was old enough, he was sint to Saint Ignatyous.
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