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Updated: June 25, 2025
Why did n't you put it in the bank as you got it?" "Why, mos'ly it was too small, an' so I des' kep' it in a ol' sock. I tol' Fannie dat some day ef de bank did n't bus' wid all de res' I had, I 'd put it in too. She was allus sayin' it was too much to have layin' 'roun' de house.
Josephine approached and took up in her own hands these evidences of an earlier occupancy of the room. They were garments of a day gone by. The silks were faded, dingy, worn in the creases from sheer disuse. Apparently they had hung untouched for some time. "Whose were these, Sally?" demanded Josephine. "I dunno, Ma'am. I'se been mos'ly in the kitchen, Ma'am." Josephine regarded her closely.
"Does the tuna live on flying-fish only, Vincente?" asked Colin of the boatman, a couple of days before he was going to leave. "Mos'ly zey do, sair, I t'ink," was the reply, "zat is, when zey can get dem. But zey'll eat nearly any fish an' zey are quite fon' o' squid. Some fishermen use squid for tuna bait, but I don't t'ink much of ze idea."
He was in his own place now, his hands trembling as they lay on the arms of his chair; a pathetic reproach was in his voice. "Though old folks oughtn't ter expec' too much o' young ones, ez be all tuk up naterally with tharse'fs," he added, bravely. He would not let his past lonely griefs mar the bright present. "Old folks air mos'ly cumber-ers mos'ly cumberers o' the yearth, ennyhow."
It had been a bad night for lovers. At the office building, leaning against the wall, a cigarette dangling dejectedly from his lips, Lonesome Pete was waiting for him. "That you, Con?" "Yes. What are you doing here?" "Waitin' for you, an' meditatin' mos'ly." He cast away his cigarette, sighed deeply, and began a search for his paper and tobacco. "I was wantin' to ask you a question, Con."
"Yah, sah; I'se had er confab wid 'em," remarked the negro, seating himself on the top step of the veranda, and mopping his coal-black face with a red cotton handkerchief; "an' hit do beat all. Niggahs is mos'ly eejits, spacially w'en yo' wants 'em to hab some sense."
They espress they'se'ves to me as they agent that they like to confawm some prearrangement with you, sah." "Are you all on one plantation?" "Oh, no, sah, they ain't ezac'ly on no plantation. Me? Ob, I been a-goin' to the Freedman' Bureau school in Pulaski City as they agent. "Sah? Yass, sah, at they espenses p-he! "They? They mos'ly strowed round in the woods in pole cabins an' bresh arbors. Sah?
Bein' as you've slipped me your name, frien'ly like, stranger, I don't min' swappin' with you. It's Pete, an' folks calls me Lonesome Pete, mos'ly. An' you can tell anybody you see that Lonesome Pete, cow-puncher from the Half Moon, has made up his min' at las' as how he ain't never goin' any nearer Noo York than the devil drives him."
"Come along any time," replied Mills cheerfully as he slung his boots across his shoulders. "You don't think that island's a quicksand, eh?" The Frenchman turned and stared at it. "I do' know," he answered. "Per'aps. You goin' to try, eh?" "Yes, I'll have a shot at it. You can mos'ly trust yourself on 'em if you walk light an' quick. But we'll see." The Frenchman watched him as he waded out.
In France it is ver' often 'ot. But you don' like it, eh?" "No," said the trader, with emphasis. "I was after pea-hen, or you wouldn't see me out this time o' the day. English chaps can't stand it." "Eh?" "English chaps can't stand it, I said," repeated Mills. "They mos'ly lie up till it's cooler." "Ah yais." They were now nearing the river.
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