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Updated: June 23, 2025
"Me for th' hay." "Aw, g'wan," protested Bill. "'Twon't take a minute, an' you got all 'ternity t' sleep in, as the poet says." "An' I c'n use it," Jim yawned; "but cut loose, an' make it short." "Well," Bill began, "las' week Thursday I was goin' down t' th' Junction for feed, an' I takes Bull along. You know how he likes t' ride in a wagon? 'S almost human. Why, that there animal "
Prick his calves with a knife if he's slow about it." We heard the cook say in a lower voice, "G'wan, you ol' scalliwaggle"; then, "Heah he is, cap'n, heah he come! Watch out foh him. He's nimble yass, sah, he's nimble."
And, say, you talk about your excitin' tableaux! In about two shakes there's all kinds of excitement; for it seems one of the new arrivals is Hadley's mommer, and she proceeds to join the riot. "Oh, my darling boy! My darling!" she sings out. "What is happening! He is being killed! Oh, he is being killed!" "G'wan!" says I, gettin' up and exhibitin' the squirt gun.
He fumbled with the bars again and got two of them back in place and then, throwing himself across the saddle as the horse started forward as hard as it could go, slipped off, but managed to save himself by hopping along the ground. As soon as he had secured the grip he wished he mounted with the ease of habit and felt for the reins. "G'wan now, an' easy it's plumb dark an' my head's bustin'."
"But it looks like the kid ain't got no appetite to git well, for they misses him from the tent in the night and finds him rootin' in the grass, and likewise a drizzle fallin'. 'G'wan, he says, 'lemme go and die like I wanter. He said I was a liar and a fake and I was playin' sick. Lemme alone. "Two weeks," went on the cook, "he laid around, not noticin' nobody, and then "
They sais, 'No no g'wan, tek him out a' yeh he ain' b'long in this place, that man ain'. So we walk an' walk an' ultimately he sais, 'If Ah'm go'n' a' git mah eight houahs sleep this naght, Ah mus' begin sometime, why not now? So th' Cunnel lay raght down on th' thu'faih an' Ah set mahse'f down beside him twell he wake up in th' mawnin', not knowin' what hahm maght come to him.
"Oh, yes, you will," says I, "or else you and me will be mixed up in a rumpus that'll bring the chaperons and special cops in here on the run," and with that I proceeds to shed the braided coat and my black vest. "You're insulting!" says Bobby, gettin' wild-eyed. "G'wan!" says I. "It's a fair swap. I'll leave it to the young lady."
Put her down." Master Maloney obediently dropped the cat, which sprang nimbly on to an upper shelf of the book-case. "I wasn't hoitin' her," he said, without emotion. "Dere was two fellers in de street sickin' a dawg on to her. An' I comes up an' says, 'G'wan! What do youse t'ink you're doin', fussin' de poor dumb animal? An' one of de guys, he says, 'G'wan!
Only for an instant, however, was Andy daunted. He suddenly realized that he could get more promptly to the manager or the ringmaster from the rear. He ran around the big white mountain of canvas till he reached the performers' tent. Patrolling outside of it was a club-armed watchman. "Please let me in," said Andy hurriedly. "I want to see the manager, quick." "Yes, they all do. G'wan!
The sound stirred Buck to his depths. He 'pointed' at the door like a smell-dog. 'Who's in dere? he demanded. 'Only Mr Abney. Better not disturb him. He has a bad cold. He placed a wrong construction on my solicitude for my employer. His manner became excited. 'Open dat door, you, he cried. 'It'll give him a nasty shock. 'G'wan! Open it!
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