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Updated: June 15, 2025
They know which side their bread's buttered, don't yous fergit." Chiefly by his own efforts the prisoner had become a disreputable wreck. Hatless, with torn collar, his clothes covered with the dirt he was rolling in, ten minutes' struggle with the policeman had transformed him into a scarecrow.
O Floss, I hope I'm right about sixpence; I hope it will buy a bed for baby, and milk and food for us all, for I'm thinking we had much better none of us go back to-night. 'Of course, we won't go back, said Flossie. 'The stale bread's 'licious, and I'm so hungry. O Peter, do look!
No, sir, I don't like it. Uh course," he went on, letting himself loose-jointedly to the ground, "they couldn't get nothing on Tom not unless they framed something. But I wouldn't put it a-past 'em to do it. No, ma'am, I wouldn't." "Your bread's burning, Riley. I can smell it. Don't you never think they'll frame on Tom. They may try it but that's as far as they'll get.
"Well," said he, "no matter, it'll only be a good joke; Art is a dacent fellow, and afther this night we won't repate it. Maybe," he continued "I may find it necessary to vex him, an' if I do, remember you won't let him get at me, or my bread's baked." This they all promised, and the words were scarcely concluded, when Art entered and joined them.
He descended, unannounced, upon Mrs. Bread, whom he found keeping lonely watch in his great empty saloons on the Boulevard Haussmann. They were as neat as a Dutch village, Mrs. Bread's only occupation had been removing individual dust-particles.
He knows which side of his bread's got quince preserves onto it. I used to run second mate on the Dook of Orleans, and I know his kind. He'll soar around like a turkey-buzzard fer a while. Presently he'll 'light. He's rusticatin' tell some scrape blows over. An' he'll make somethin' outen it. Business afore pleasure is his motto.
Think of having the whole world to run around in!" The telephone tinkled. "Yes, Nan," Grandma smiled as she answered, "I know. Fanny's just this minute telling me. Yes, of course I can. I'll be over as soon as my bread's done baking. Yes I'll bring along some of my lavender to pack in with your things." "Land sakes, Grandma," exclaimed Fanny, "don't stop for the bread. I'll see to that.
"Such things don't happen anywhere, to a grown-up girl." "What about Raisuli in Tangier?" Biddy challenged me. "He used to kidnap people whenever he liked. And so do lots of brigands." "We haven't to do with brigands." "Oh, what's in a name? And I wouldn't put anything past that horrid Bedr." "As Anthony said to you, he knows which side his bread's buttered."
"Sposin' I was to go to N' Orleans an' take sick and die, Laik a bird into de country ma spirit would fly." And after a while down the path the red and yellow of Mammy Easter's bandanna was seen. "Supper, Miss Jinny. Laws, if I ain't ramshacked de premises fo' you bof. De co'n bread's gittin' cold."
Now a man of your sense for you seem a man of sense, though you're a parson, and know what side your bread's buttered on ought to see that it's an aggravating thing when a young fellow has been sent to a coach for his instruction, and to keep him out of harm's way, to find him cheek by jowl with a nice-looking young woman. That's not what a father has a right to expect."
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