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I'm bound to tell you, sir, that I'm on'y a groom in a Hinglish family, and makes no pretence to be hanythink else, though circumstances 'as putt me in a false position since I come 'ere. I 'ope your Pashaship won't think me ungracious, sir, but I can't a-bear to sail under false colours."
"Well, I recollect when you thought otherwise." "When, Mr T? 'ave I not often told you so?" "Yes, lately; but I referred to the time when one Poll Bacon of Wapping took my hand for better or for worse." "Really, Mr T, you quite shock me. My name was Mary, and the Bacons are a good old Hinglish name. You 'ave their harms quartered on the carriage in right o' me. That's something, I can tell you."
"Furies! the sacred soil of Virginia again passing into the hands of the blarsted Hinglish, from whom it was wrested a century ago by the blood and treasure of George Washington's hatchet! A Federal cadet on one side and an Englishman on the other of Blank Dépôt, away off here in Bedford! What are we coming to?"
"Don't you think he's a bright baby?" asked the child, sitting down on a footstool, which was a favourite seat of hers. "For a French biby, 'e 's as bright as you could expect," replied her hostess, judicially. "Are they different?" "Well, they ain't Hinglish." "I'm half American," said the little girl. "You don't talk through your nose. Far as I can see, you've got as good a haccent as me."
For the combatants, tongue's-length from each other, were prowling to and fro menacingly. "Oh, there's going to be a tongue-lashing," cried Gwendolyn, frightened. "I'm the King's Hinglish!" it was the soldier's slogan. "This is me!" sang Thomas, saucily flicking at a brass button. His face was all cunning. Then how the tongues popped! "This is I!" corrected the King's English promptly.
They seemed very anxious to see everything in the studio, talked in loud tones of the various objects of art, passed us, and occupied themselves for some time before the statue called California. I heard one of them say, "I wonder if there's anybody 'ere that talks Hinglish?" and in the same breath she called out to Mr. Powers, "Come 'ere!" He was at work that day, and wore his studio costume.
Once as he stood at the carriage door, the rug over his arm, waiting for Miss Connie to descend the steps for her afternoon drive, an impudent little "Canuck" jeered at him in passing. "Hello, Hinglish!" he yelled. "We're a Barnardo boy, we h'is, fer all our swell brass buttons." Buck winced. How he hated Watkins on the box to hear this everlasting taunt cast at him.
I was somewhat surprised to see him immediately obey the rude command, and the following conversation occurred: "Do you speak Hinglish?" "Yes, ma'am." "What is this statue?" "It is called California, madam." "What has she got in 'er 'and?" "Thorns, madam, in the hand held behind the back; in the other she presents the quartz containing the tempting metal." "Oh!"
I've been treated with the consideration doo to a prince since I fell into the 'ands of the Turks, and it is right that I should at once correct this mistake, w'ich I'd 'ave done long ago if I could 'ave got the Turks who've 'ad charge of me to understand Hinglish.
"Don't you think he's a bright baby?" asked the child, sitting down on a footstool, which was a favourite seat of hers. "For a French biby, 'e's as bright as you could expect," replied her hostess, judicially. "Are they different?" "Well, they ain't Hinglish." "I'm half American," said the little girl. "You don't talk through your nose. Far as I can see, you've got as good a haccent as me."
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