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Updated: September 20, 2025
"Yo' maw said he was a drinkin' man, an' I said to myse'f, from my own 'sperience.... Yo' set inside yeah, Nelia. I'll go down theh an' talk myse'f. We come near buyin' that bo't yistehd'y. Leave hit to me!" Nelia sat down in the shanty-boat, and waited. She had not long to wait. A tall, rather burly man returned with the woman, who introduced the two; "Mis' Crele, this is Frank Commer.
We laughed together like the best of friends, and I spoke again about the fishing grounds, and confessed that I had no fancy for a southerly breeze and a ground swell. "Nor me neither," said the old fisherman. "Nobody likes 'em, say what they may. Poor dear was disobliged by the mere sight of a bo't.
You set 'midships, Mis' Todd, an' let the boy hold the sheet 'n' steer after he gits the sail up; you won't never git out to Green Island that way. She's lo'ded bad, your bo't is, she's heavy behind's she is now!" Mrs. Todd turned with some difficulty and regarded the anxious adviser, my right oar flew out of water, and we seemed about to capsize. "That you, Asa? Good-mornin'," she said politely.
And Minky nodded his head. He also smiled slyly upon those who stood about him. "Ther' sure is elegant humor to most things in this yer life," he said dryly. "Which 'minds me Wild Bill bo't ha'f o' that claim o' Zip's 'fore he set out fer Spawn City." And at his words somehow a curious thoughtfulness fell upon his hearers. Nor was there any responsive smile among them.
Look at Congress but no, I'd rather not look at Congress. Entertainin this great regard for Commerce, "whose sales whiten every sea," as everybody happily observes every chance he gets, I learn with disgust and surprise that a British subjeck bo't a Barril of Apple Sass in America recently, and when he arrove home he found under a few deloosiv layers of sass nothin but sawdust.
Struck it with a choppin'-tray for a bo't and a mess of rooty-baggy turnips for a crew! And there's only one hole to crawl out of." The wind had shifted when it settled into the blow a fact that the Cap'n's shipmates did not realize, and which he was too disgusted by their general inefficiency to explain to them.
The old bachelor don't die at all he sort of rots away, like a pollywog's tail. . . . . My townsmen were sort o' demoralized. "What's them? Is it cavilry?" "That," said the landlord, "is the stage. Sixteen able-bodied citizens has literally bo't the stage line 'tween here and Scotsburg. That's them. They're Stage-drivers. Stage- drivers is exempt!"
She's all alone, too, an' what a lady travels alone down yeah for I don't know. She's purty enough to have a husband, I bet, if she wants one." "Looks like one of them Pittsburgh er Cincinnati women," Jim Caope declared. "No." Mrs. Caope shook her head. "She's off'n the riveh. Leastwise, she handles that bo't reg'lar. I cayn't git to see her face, but I seen her some'rs, I bet.
"Well, good-day to ye; be a stiddy lad," advised John Sykes, a few minutes afterward. "Don't start in too smart an' scare 'm up to Boston. Pride an' ambition was the downfall o' old Cole's dog. There, sonny, the bo't ain't nowheres in sight, for all your fidgetin'!"
After supper we'll bring some books over here and talk about them!" "My supper is all ready, keeping warm in the oven," Rasba said. "I always cook enough for one more than there is. Yo' know, a vacant chair at the table for the Stranger." "And I came?" she laughed. "An' yo' came, Missy!" he replied. "Parson," Prebol pleaded, "I'm alone mos' the time. Mout yo' two eat hyar on my bo't?
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