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Updated: May 14, 2025
That genial old man was busy one morning in the nursery, amusing little Mita, who had by that time attained to what we may style the dawn-of-intelligence period of life, and was what Mrs Loper, Mr Crackaby, and Mr Stickler called "engaging." "Mariar!" shouted Mr Twitter to his amiable spouse, who was finishing her toilet in the adjoining room.
"I sez to Mariar, Mariar, sez I, 'Praise to the face is open disgrace." I heard no more. Dreading some susceptibility to sincere expression on the subject of female loveliness, I walked away, checking the compliment that otherwise might have risen unbidden to my lips, and have brought shame and sorrow to the household.
"Thy way happens to be my way, 's Rewth said to Naomi; so 'f gittin' over the road's your objeck, 'n' y' ain't pertickler 'baout the gait ye travel, ye can git in 'n' ride a piece. We don't b'lieve in hurryin', Mariar 'n' me. Slow 'n' easy goes fur in a day, 's our motto. Can ye git your folks aboard withaout spillin' any of 'em?"
Every one of you knows what that means. Will you go with me to their rescue?" No one seemed anxious to be first to speak. I could see them look aside uneasily at one another. "Bungay," I said, "I feel sure you will go, for your wife is there." "Mariar?" "Yes; Miss Minor told me this afternoon, but I had forgotten to mention it." The little man sprang into the air and came down with a whoop.
"'Sides, I sorter wanter hev Mariar git 'quainted with thet thar muel o' mine, Beelzebub." "But you've lost him." "Nary a durn loss; ye jist can't lose thet muel, he's too blame ornary. He's out thar now, hitched ter a tree, an' a eatin' fit ter bust his biler never a durn mark on his hide fer all he wint through."
Hawkins lounging in the bar, waiting for him, and beguiling the time by the consumption of a glass of gin. "There's no one in the parlour, sir," said Hawkins, as he recognized Mr. Carrington; "and if you'll step in there, we shall be quite private. I suppose there ain't no objection to this gent and me stepping into the parlour, is there, Mariar?" Mr.
"This is your long-lost sister Matilda," rehearsed Mrs Twitter, like one in a dream. The situation was rendered still more complex by the sudden entrance of Mr Twitter and his friend Crackaby. "What what what's to do now, Mariar?" "Sister Matilda!" shouted all three with a gasp. "Lunatics, every one of 'em," murmured Crackaby.
"I sez to Mariar, 'Mariar' sez I, 'praise to the face is open disgrace" I heard no more. Dreading some susceptibility to sincere expression on the subject of female loveliness, I walked away, checking the compliment that otherwise might have risen unbidden to my lips, and have brought shame and sorrow to the household.
"Holy smoke!" he ejaculated, probably unaware that he was giving utterance to his thoughts. "That was a sharp rock! Durn if thar's a inch o' skin left on my knee. Whut is it Scott ses? 'An' broken arms and disarray marked the fell havoc of the day. Gee! if Mariar cud only see me now, maybe she wouldn't be proud
If you'll trust me with it I'll hope to do something for us both." Biah went into the house, and after some fumbling brought out a canvas bag, which he put into James's hand. "Wanted to go to sea confoundedly myself, but there's Mariar Jane she won't hear on't, and turns on the water-works if I peep a single word.
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