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"Marse Scoville daid, shot of'n he hoss long way f'um yere," replied Aun' Jinkey sorrowfully. "He kyant harm you ner you 'im no mo', ner Chunk neider." "Why the devil didn't you let us know Chunk was here las' night?" "He my gran'son," was the simple reply. "Well he isn't Zany's grandson! Now I know w'at she was snoopin' round nights fer, en Mrs. Baron'll know, too, 'fore I'm five minutes older."
"My young mistis des seein' her mammy 'bout her clos," replied the quick-witted Zany. "I thought I yeared voices down by the run." "Reck'n you bettah go see," said Zany in rather high tones. "What the dev what makes yer speak so loud? a warnin'?" "Tain' my place ter pass wuds wid you, Marse Perkins. Dem I serbs doan fin' fault." "I reckon Mr. Baron'll do mo'n find fault 'fore long.
This baron'll cost me more'n that sign I showed you coming out of the old town, and he won't give any such returns, but the crest on them jars, printed in three colours and gold, will be a bully ad; and it kept the women quiet," he concluded, apologetically. "The baron's a good fellow," said Percival. "Sure," replied Higbee. "They're all good fellows. Hank had the makin's of a good fellow in him.
I'll take the hall at your figures; term, five years; and if the baron'll come down and spend a month with us at any time, I don't care when, we'll show him what a big lap Luxury can get up when she tries." And so it happened the New York papers announced that Hankinson J. Terwilliger, Mrs.
Ah gotter sit somewheres." "Ouch! What fool put rye-straw in here?" "Powerful penetratin', ain' hit?" "Now, look here, that dog's gotter run with the rest. They ain' no room for him in this wagon." "Cain' you-all make them horses o' yo's git along a little mo' lively, Alf? Mr. Baron'll 'a' cleaned the mountain o' 'possums befo' we git there."
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