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Updated: June 9, 2025
'Like Jack that night! As he looks down at her, she looks up at him, and whimpers: 'My lungs is weakly; my lungs is dreffle bad. Poor me, poor me, my cough is rattling dry! and coughs in confirmation horribly. 'Where do you come from? 'Where are you going to? 'Back to London, deary. I came here, looking for a needle in a haystack, and I ain't found it.
I don't see my way to makin' any sort o' plans with father so dreffle indefinite, 'n' a man who was fool enough to marry me, tied up like I am now, would n't have s'fficient brains to be worth lookin' over. Mrs. Brown's son 's learnin' docterin', 'n' he's been at it long enough so 's to be able to see through anythin' 's simple 's father, I sh'd think.
"Oh they hain't done nothin," replied the landlord, "they ain't nothin but debtors. Dern debtors, I don' like to hev the jailin of em. They hain't got no blood intew em like Sabbath-breakers, an blasphemers, an rapers has. They're weakly, pulin kinder chaps, what thar ain't no satisfaction a lockin up an a knockin roun'. They're dreffle deskerridgin kind o' fellers tew.
"Don't Mass' George flog lil nigger for get in pashum. Pomp so dreffle hungly." "Oh, I'm not cross," I said, good-temperedly. "And Mass' George not flog poor lil nigger?" "I will if you ever say so again," I cried. "Oh!" "When were you ever flogged? Did I ever flog you?" "No, Mass' George." "Then why did you say that?" "Mass' George often look going flog lil nigger."
How does that go? Wonder how it feels to be a thief? He! he! he!" Somehow the voice and the words irritated Albert beyond endurance. He lost his relish for supper and went out on the piazza. "Git's riled dreffle easy," said Jim as Charlton disappeared. "Fellers weth idees does. I hope he'll gin Wes'cott another thrashin'." "He's powerful techy," said the Poet. "Kinder curus, though.
"I hope not," said Miss Roxy, with her grimmest expression. "You don't! Why not?" "I never liked him," said Miss Roxy, who had possessed herself of her great heavy goose, and was now thumping and squeaking it emphatically on the press-board. "She's a thousand times too good for Moses Pennel," thump. "I ne'er had no faith in him," thump. "He's dreffle unstiddy," thump.
It was awful nice, and, to prolong the pleasure, I stayed outside about half an hour, then a summer shower came up, and I made up my mind and rang the bell. Jane came to the door. "Is the squire at home?" says I. "No, sir, he's down to the hotel; but Miss Marigold, she's to hum," said the black girl, grinning. "Won't you step in? Miss will be dreffle sorry her pa is out."
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