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Updated: June 7, 2025
"It's a fine night entirely, tho' a dark 'un. Come, I'll trate ye to a taste o' me cavendish, which is better than growlin' in yer hammock at the muskaities, poor things, as don't know no better."
How a feller's goin' to keep run of 'em is what I can't see." "You was the one that did most of the growlin' when things was the old way." "Yes, but jest 'cause a man don't want to live in a pigpen it ain't no sign he wants to be put under a glass case." Elsie's influence upon the house and its inmates had become almost as marked as Mrs. Snow's.
"'I tould you so, sorr! sez I; an', afther that, whin he wanted to help a Paythan I stud wid the muzzle contagious to the ear. They dare not do anythin' but curse. The Tyrone was growlin' like dogs over a bone that had been taken away too soon, for they had seen their dead an' they wanted to kill ivry sowl on the ground.
"I was only growlin' for fun to mysel'," answered Curly, who would have done it all the more if he had known there was any one on the road. "I didna ken 'at I was fleggin' onybody. An' hoo are ye, Annie? An' hoo's Blister Bruce?" For Curly was dreadfully prolific in nicknames. Annie had not seen him for six months.
If I'd stayed in till they got to growlin' around and wantin' to put me out I'd have to walk up and down in this town like Gid Ward does now meechin' as a scalt pup. That's why I'm takin' so much personal satisfaction in gettin' out they want to keep me in." "You ought to travel out around this town a little," returned his friend, grimly.
"Musha, now, but 'tis the foin, handsome man ye are, an' ye've a gintleman's face on ye, bedad ye have, an," here she showed a halfpenny in her withered claw, "this is all I got since I kem out, and me that's twistin' wid the rummatacks like the divil on a hot griddle; the holy Mother o' God knows its thrue, an' me ould man, that's seventy or eighty or more the divil a one o' him knows his own age he's that sick an' bad, an' that wake intirely, that he couldn't lift a herrin' wid a pair o' hot tongs; 'tis an ulster he has, that does be ruinin' him, the docthor says; bad luck to it for an ulster wid a powltice, an' he's growlin' that he has no tobacky, God help him.
While I'm gone he's run across another, worse than the first, by the marks he's made on it, and he's got to the point where a thermometer slipped down the back of his neck would go off like a cap pistol. "See here!" says he, growlin' it out grouchy, without lookin' up. "I'd like to have you run your eye over that, and then tell me where in thunder you learned to spell such s-u-t-c-h!"
The cook's assistant said that he'd have given a five-pound note for a portrait of Curry-and-Rice when that poodle came back from the shed. The cook was naturally very indignant; he was surprised at first then he got mad. He had the whole afternoon to get worked up in, and at tea-time he went for the men properly. "Wotter yer growlin' about?" asked one. "Wot's the matter with yer, anyway?"
Well, there was a man named Juiz de Paz, who owned a small shop, and used to go down now and then to Rio de Janeiro to buy goods. Wan evenin' he returned from wan o' his long journeys, and, being rather tired, wint to bed. He was jist goin' off into a comfortable doze when there came a terrible bumpin' at the door. "'Hallo! cried Juiz, growlin' angrily in the Portugee tongue; 'what d'ye want?
I means that sort o' contentment that makes a man feel happy though he hasn't got champagne an' taters, pigeon-pie, lobscouse, plum-duff, mustard an' jam at every blow-out; that sort o' contentment that takes things as they come, an' enjoys 'em without grumpin' an' growlin' 'cause he hasn't got somethin' else."
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