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Updated: May 9, 2025
"No. But I hasn't gotter encourage him in disher foolishness ob runnin' up an' down de world, huntin' fo' new t'ings. I don't like new t'ings," declared Wash. "Looked disher now! Whoeber said Washington White wanted ter transmogrify hissef to a new planet? Nobody, not dat I hears on." "I reckon we none of us had much choice in the matter," returned Jack, with a sigh. "Glory!
He did not offer to kiss her he never did on going out but on this night she dared to kiss him, throwing her arms around him and compelling him to bend down to her face. She looked quite small against the massive bulk of the man. "Good luck, Tom," she said. "You gotter do 'im." "Ay, I gotter do 'im," he repeated. "That's all there is to it. I jus' gotter do 'im."
"The poor old Snowbird cannot be repaired in a hurry, that is sure," muttered Mark. "And this is no place to remain for fun," agreed Jack. "Suppose the walls of the crack should shut together where would we be?" "Just about here, for fair!" said Phineas Roebach, grimly, while Washington uttered a most mournful wail. "Gollyation! Is we gotter be squeeged ter deaf in disher awful cavernarious hole?
It'll be dead easy, and I bet it'll make a hit too. You know the stunt lights down spotlight on the stage you in it singing in a low sweet voice 'Loch Lomond." "What!" "Sure thing." "What in Sam Hill has 'Loch Lomond' gotter do with 'Uncle Tom's Cabin!" demanded William truculently. "Them niggers never even heard of it, I'll bet."
She cared for my mother, a lonely outcast, and braved death herself to go to her when she was dying of the fever. God bless her!" Lindy was standing in the doorway. "Lan' sakes, Marse Nick, yo' gotter go," she said. He rose and pressed my fingers. "I'll go," he said, and left me. Lindy seated herself in the chair. She held in her hand a bowl of beef broth.
Thirty a month, and at that 'tain't fit for no dawg to live in. I could knock up a shack like this with tar paper, I could. "And what do we get? I gotter haul the water in a bucket, and cook on an oil stove, and they hists the price of the ile, 'cause he comes by in a wagon with it. The landlords is squeezing the life out of us, I tell ye." She paused in her tirade to yell at her charges.
They had now reached Twenty-third Street, and following his companion's lead, O'Royster crossed unsteadily into Madison Square and through one of the park walks. Presently he halted. "By zhe way, Woffski," he said, "do you know where we're goin'?" "Yah." "Well, zat's what I call lucky. I'm free t' confesh I haven't gotter shingle idea. But 'f you know, 's all right.
"I sent a lovely list up the chimney and I never told anyone about it and I got lots of things for Christmas and not one of the things I'd written for!" "Did you feel awful rotten?" "Yes, I did. Awful." "I say, Joan," importantly, "I've gotter secret." "Do tell me, William!" she pleaded. "Can't. It's a crorse-me-throat secret!" She was mystified and impressed. "How lovely, William!
I am tempted, in illustration of this, to quote from a larger work of mine, "Australia," an instance of my own observation of the "resourceful Australian": "Without touch of cap, or sign of servility, the swagman came up. "'Gotter a job, boss? "'No chance; but you can go round and get rations. "'I wanter job pretty bad. Times have been hard. Perhaps you recollect me Jim Stone.
"Don't you pester longer Brer Rabbit, honey, en don't you fret 'bout 'im. You'll year whar he went en how he come out. Dish yer col' snap rastles wid my bones, now," continued the old man, putting on his hat and picking up his walking-stick. "Hit rastles wid me monstus, en I gotter rack 'roun' en see if I kin run up agin some Chris'mus leavin's."
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