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Updated: June 20, 2025
"When twenty seeds rot in the ground an' one happens up, thar're some folks as would praise the Lord for the one and say nothin' about the twenty. These same folks are forever drawin' picturs of wild things hoppin' an' skippin' in the woods, as if they ever had time to hop an' skip when they're obleeged to keep one eye on the fox an' the hawk an' t'other on the gun of the hunter. Yet to hear Mr.
Jes' ez soon ez de sehmont was ovah, whut mus' Brothah Simon, de 'zortah, min' you, whut mus' he do but come hoppin' down f'om de pu'pit, an' beau dat wench home! 'Scorted huh clah 'crost de plantation befo' evahbody's face. Now whut you call dat?" "I call it politeness, that is what I call it. What are you laughing at, Mr. Marston?
"I run 'round back of the station and snook up and crawled under the platform in front. I could see everybody hoppin' 'round and I figured I was safer on the job, expectin' they'd be lookin' for me to beat it out of town. Then you fellas come up and stood talkin' right over me head.
Tom Anderson hesitated a moment, and then said: "Now, boys, I'll tell you all 'bout it. But you's got to be mighty mum 'bout it. It won't do to let de cat outer de bag." "Dat's so! But tell us wat you yered. We ain't gwine to say nuffin to nobody." "Well," said Tom, "las' night ole Marster had company. Two big ginerals, and dey was hoppin' mad.
And the way in which, as the story proceeded, Tupper of Swinsthwaite winked at Ned Hoppin of Fellsgarth, and Long Kirby, the smith, poked Jem Burton, the publican, in the ribs, and Sexton Ross said, "Ma word, lad!" spoke more eloquently than many words. One man only never joined in the chorus of admiration.
The examples of language placed before youth cannot be too carefully revised. With this minute exception, we heartily recommend the 'Budget of Fun' and 'Jean Belin, especially the latter, to all young people. A ludicrous satire, and well deserved, on the general style of advertisements. Hoppin is too well known to need laudation. His illustrations are irresistibly comic.
What a pity! Oh, he must have met that in my behalf. Tell me, what happened? Who shot him?" "Wal, I don't know. An' thet's what's made me hoppin' mad. I wasn't there when it come off. An' he won't tell me." "Why not?" "I don't know thet, either. I reckoned first it was because he wanted to get even.
He run right past the straw pile, and before you could say Jack Robinson, I had him by the hitch-strap it was draggin' and hoppin' against the straw, I jumped on him." "Jack Robinson," Zene's hearer tried half-audibly. "Then what? Did the man and woman run?" "I makes old Gray jump the straw pile, and I comes at them just like I rose out of the ground!
Singleton laughed deeply. "You might call it that. Blondy an' his gang are runnin' this man's town, right now! They've got Moreton scared, looks like! He's layin' mighty low, an' keepin' his trap shut. Blondy's got a mighty tough gang a bunch of hoppin', howlin' tarantulas, straight from hell!
"He's hoppin' mad," said the boy. "He's going to give you all a lickin', an' then hev you locked up for trespassin'." "But suppose we explain to him that it was all a mistake, and offer to pay the damages," continued Randy, "wouldn't that satisfy him?" The boy shook his head. "Uncle Dan ain't that kind. When he gets mad nobody kin stop him, I reckon he'll lick you chaps pretty hard."
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