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Take grand big coon skinch back to Boston with you. Ringsh on tail. Make wife fine muff, or fur trimmingsh. Good to till boysh at club about, shee?" "Are you asking me to go on a coon hunt with you?" demanded the Thread Man. "When? Where?" "Corshally invited," answered Jimmy. "To-morrow night. Canoper. Show you plashe. Bill Duke's dogs. My gunsh. Moonsh shinin'. Dogs howlin'. Shnow flying!
"Little boysh is goosies for tryin' to make big folksh happy at all," said Toddie, beginning again to cry. "Oh, no, they're not, dear," said Mrs. Burton, taking the sorrowful child into her lap. "But they don't always understand how best to do it, so they ought to ask big folks before they begin." "Then there wouldn't be no s'prises," complained Toddie. "Say; izh we goin' to eat all this supper?"
"Little boysh never can do anyfing nysh wivout bein' made to don't," said Toddie. "Dzust see what an awful big splinter I got in my hand when I was froin' wood on the fire! I didn't cry a bit about it then, 'cause I fought I was makin' uvver folks happy, like the Lord wants little boysh to. But they didn't get happy, so now I am goin' to cry 'bout the splinter!"
"You shoot own coon yourself," offered the magnanimous Jimmy. "You may carrysh my gunsh, take first shot. First shot to Missher O'Khayam, boysh, 'member that. Shay, can you hit anything? Take a try now." Jimmy reached behind him, and shoved a big revolver into the hand of the Thread Man. "Whersh target?" he demanded.
Burton, shuddering to realize that Toddie had not before been taught of the nature of the Holy Trinity. "An' played around like uvver little boysh?" continued Toddie. "I I suppose so," said Mrs. Burton, fearing lest in trying to instill reverence into her nephews, she herself might prove irreverent. "Did somebody say 'Don't' at Him every time he did anyfing?" continued Toddie. "N n n o!
Fify coonsh rollin' out one hole! Shoot all dead! Take your pick! Tan skin for you myself! Roaring big firesh warm by. Bag finesh sandwiches ever tasted. Milk pail pure gold drink. No stop, slop out going over bridge. Take jug. Big jug. Toss her up an' let her gurgle. Dogsh bark. Fire pop. Guns bang. Fifty coons drop. Boysh all go. Want to get more education. Takes culture to get woolsh off.
Lemme beg o' you t' reform ere it ish too late. Beware of it, my fren, beware of it. It shtingeth like a serpent, an' biteth like a multiplier I mean an adder. You haven't got my shuperb self-control, an' so yer only shafety lies in total abstinence. Cheese it, my fren, cheese it on she sheductive but fatal lush." "Are we goin' out t' meet she boysh?" inquired Abe. "Shertainly we are. Yesshir.
Shay, will you go?" "I wouldn't miss it for a thousand dollars," said the Thread Man. "But what will I say to my house for being a day late?" "Shay gotter grip," suggested Jimmy. "Never too late to getter grip. Will you all go, boysh?"
Madame de Brienne has begged that I will pass through Brienne, and I promised that I will. I will not conceal from you that I shall feel great pleasure in again beholding the spot which for six years was the scene of our boysh sports and studies."
The bees gathered about the table to feast on the vinous honey, while Shirley, mumbling a few words, maintained his partial obscurity, with one hand to his forehead. "Fine boysh, m'deah. Boysh, meet little Bonbon my protashsh!" Little Bonbon was a pronounced attraction. Her vivacious charm drew the eyes away from Shirley, who studied the expressions of the weasel faces about him.