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Updated: June 24, 2025
"Hey, don't faint yet!" roared Rolfe, seizing the trembling seaman and hauling him back to his feet. "Prisoners where? Who's got 'em? Leyden?" "No, sar. Dutch navy man he come an' cotch us, sar. Misser Li'l he fly cane in de man's face an' say to me, 'Run! Oh, verry bad, sar." The man collapsed at the mate's feet, and Bill Blunt sent two men to carry him inside the hut.
Come, fork it over straight, and don't be muttering yer Dutch lingo!" "Vat zue drink mit me dis morning? Misser Dunz' te best fellow vat comez in my shop," said Drydez.
One cannot help suspecting a personal bearing in the severe description of the hard man evidently a lawyer who makes the poor wait before giving them counsel: yet, perhaps, the suspicion is unwarranted, and the letter carried to Misser Lorenzo nothing more searching than a general account of the temptations to which his profession was subject.
"Why not?" said Josh, in a reproachful way. "Misser Mulford'e bess mate dis brig ebber get; and I don't see why Cap'in Spike-want to be rid of him." "Because he's a willian!" returned Jack between his grated teeth. "D'ye know what that means in English, master Josh; and can you and cook here, both of whom have sailed with the man years in and years out, say whether my words be true or not?"
At this, the sinister silhouette, acting as a sort of dissolving view, came out in favor of the old maxim that "there is a bright side to everything." It was no less a person than Jonas Hicks. Little Jimmie Wanger's "Misser Donas!" "Misser Donas dimme pop," Janet's mind took a jump to this.
Still the man delved. "There!" he panted at last. "Money talks. There's the stuff. Count it. Eighteen hundred if there's a dollar. More likely two thou. If that ain't enough, make your own price. I don't care what it is. Make it, Misser. Put a price on it." There was something loathsome and obscene in the creature's gibbering flux of words. The editor leaned forward.
"I'se seen Misser Gregory on de roof," said Jeff, drawing on his imagination, as he had only heard about that event through Zibbie's highly colored story, "where some other folks wouldn't dar go, and now I'se see dat house dar, which I wouldn't see dar, wasn't it for Misser Gregory." "Well, well," said Hunting, impatiently, "I've heard all about that. What else?"
That one white boy," he pointed to Sax, "that one white boy, him belonga my old boss. Him belonga Boss Stobart.... Me stay, Misser Darby? You let Yarloo stay, eh?" The request was made in a voice of entreaty, as if the faithful native was asking a very great favour. Mick at once complied with hearty good will. "Of course you stay, Yarloo. You stay all right. You look after white boy real good."
Masser aloft forget he'm all, misser Richard; he t'ink 'em no more." "It will be what I call a d 'd generous thing, if he does," returned Richard, whose sorrow and whose conscience had stirred up his uncouth feelings to an extraordinary degree.
"Me come back, Misser Stobart," whispered Yarloo. "Good boy," replied the drover. "Good boy. Does the camp know you're here?" "Neh. Me come longa you first time. They all about sleep." Then Yarloo told all that he had done since he went away. Stobart was overjoyed to hear that his son was safe, and hope, which had burnt down very low recently, once more flamed up brightly in his heart.
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