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What was that there heppigram as he made? 'Inebriated with the hexuberance of his own verbosity. There's langwidge for you! And he kep' it up, too, he did. He was the brightest diadem in England's crown, he was. But this Gladstone! wot's he? Show me any trade as he's benefited! Ain't he taken the British Flag to the bloomin' pawnshop? Gord love me, he oughter be 'ung, he did!
'It don't seem right that after living in misery and poverty all our bloody lives, workin' and slavin' all the hours that Gord A'mighty sends, that we're to be bloody well set fire and burned in 'ell for all eternity! It don't seem feasible to me, you know. 'It's my belief, said Philpot, profoundly, 'that when you're dead, you're done for. That's the end of you.
"Vases!" says Gerald, scowlin' at a shelf. "Silly vases!" And with that he ups with a chair, swings it over his shoulder, and mows down a whole row of 'em. They goes crashin' onto the floor. "Muh Gord!" gasps the dumpy tea juggler. "Clean alley! Set 'em up on the other!" I sings out. But Gerald is too busy to notice side remarks. His thin face is flushed and his eyes sparkle.
But spare de ole man, spare 'im fur de secun' blessin' which Gord dun promised us, an' which boun' ter cum bekase Gord can't lie. O Lord," she said suddenly, "remember thy po' ole servants dis night." But her appeals were fruitless. Already the "witch council" of the blacks was being formed to decide their fate.
At her stern fluttered the custom house flag. "Bitched bitched for fair!" cried Ally Bazan. "Quick, now!" exclaimed Hardenberg. "On the jump! Overboard with that loot! or no. Steady! That won't do. There's that dam' cutter. They'd see it go. Here! into the galley. There's a fire in the stove. Get a move on!" "Wot!" wailed Ally Bazan. "Burn the little joker. Gord, I can't, Hardy, I can't.
He plucked aside the front of his almost buttonless shirt and worn undervest and showed them on his left breast the scoring where a sharp blade had marked an irregular circle on his skin. "Beale did that," he whined. "Deming said they'd finish the job if I come back without 'em." "Without the shells?" "Yes, sir. Yes, Mr. Rainey. Oh, Gord, they'll kill me sure! Oh, my Gord!"
"He fol' de letter wha' was in his han' up, an' put it in he inside pocket right dyar on de lef' side; an' den he tole me he tho't mebbe we wuz gwine hev some warm wuk in de nex' two or th'ee days, an' arfter dat ef Gord speared 'im he'd git a leave o' absence fur a few days, an' we'd go home.
"Hol' on," said Bob; and he drove a spike into the end of the log, tied one end of a rope to the spike, and the other to a pliant young hickory, talking meanwhile: "Gwine to rain, an' maybe ole Mister Log try to slip away like a thief in de dark. Don't git away from Bob; no suh. You be heah now Christmas eve sho'!" "Gord!" said a little negro with bandy legs.
In every case the mob answered them in almost identical language: "Fair play," "Share and share alike," "Yer nyme Itler, maybe?" "Come orf it, sonny, oo er yew? Gord Orlmighty's furriner, aint E?" Having heckled the speakers, they proceeded cheerfully to clean out all stocks of available goods the refugees getting their just shares. There must be a peculiar salubrity about the English air.
We joined Strokher, and as I came up the others were asking: "Where? Where?" And there, before he had pointed, I saw we all of us saw And I heard Hardenberg's teeth come together like a spring trap, while Ally Bazan ducked as though to a blow, muttering: "Gord 'a' mercy, what nyme do ye put to' a ship like that?"
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