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I met her yestiddy with her young man that is to be, an' the way she was dressed up wasn't a sight for modest eyes. Not that she beguiled me, suh, though the devil himself might have been excused for mistakin' her for the scarlet woman but I'm past the time of life when a man wants a woman jest to set aroun' an' look at.
There was no mistakin' the walk in a hundred thousand. She come forward right forward she looked out straight at us with that blindish look which Pritch alluded to. She walked on and on till she melted out of the picture like like a shadow jumpin' over a candle, an' as she went I 'eard Dawson in the ticky seats be'ind sing out: 'Christ! There's Mrs.
"It's not creditable," he murmured, as he fell back again into his former listless attitude, "it's not creditable for an old salt like me to go mistakin' sea-gulls for sails, as I've bin doin' so often of late. I'm out o' practice, that's where it is." "Come, John Adams," he added, after another pause, and jumping up smartly, "this will never do.
"Thar's no mistakin' it." "It's the same as I seen racin' down the trail just before the Indians came along," added Rube. "But who brought it? Who rid it?" Gideon asked. "Who does it belong to?" "Dunno," Rube answered, shaking his head in perplexity. "Can't make him out nohow. Never seen him before. He's just a stranger.
Kiddie? Gee! You never told me that! Course I knows the name o' Kiddie same's I knows the name of the President of th' United States. Seems I bin makin' a fool o' myself, eh? Reckon it's up ter me t' apologize fer mistakin' him for a English lord; though some crooked-tongued skunk sure told me he was such. Kiddie, eh? Gee!"
"The priest would like them roasted, but I couldn't undherstand that. No; put down the sign o' the horsewhip, or the cudgel; for he's handy, an' argues well wid both?" "Good! I'll put down the horsewhip first, an' the cudgel alongside of it; then the tumbler, an' there'll be the sign o' the priest." "Ay, do, Masther, an' faix the priest 'll be complate there can be no mistakin' him thin.
When I think it's time, I'll fire three times, an' then each feller'll face an' tramp to the right, keepin' a keerful lookout for a woman's tracks p'intin' t'ward camp. Ther can't be no mistakin' 'em, for them sennyritas hez the littlest kind o' feet. When any feller finds her tracks, he'll fire, an' then we'll rally on him.
"Oh, some concert singer, I think. Let's see. Yes Miss Elsa Hampton. She's to give a benefit song recital in the Plutoria pink room for the Belgian war orphans, tickets two dollars. Want to go?" And Vee flips the folder into my lap. Gettin' the picture right side to, I lets out a whistle. No mistakin' that. "Sure I want to go," says I. "Why?" says Vee.
On this particular day he was joined by his crew, whose voices more or less tuneful came rolling over the water in a great volume of melody. "He's got Singin' Peter a-visitin' him," said Billy. "Don't you hear him?" "Ay, I hear him, boy. There's no mistakin' Singin' Peter's voice. I'd know it among a thousand."
He lost himself an took to wanderin' in a circle arter I left him. I came to know it 'cause I struck his trail the same arternoon, an' there could be no mistakin' it, the length o' stride bein' somethin' awful! So I followed it up.
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