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Updated: May 7, 2025
"It is your last chance, for to-morrow I give you back your job. I don't want any 'front porsch' on me." "Ho! ho!" laughed Benny scornfully, as he turned to hurry after his chief. "Dat's not moch front porsch on you. Dat's one rail fence clabbord." And indeed Benoit was right, for there was no "porsch" or sign of one on Cameron's lean and muscular frame.
"Sure ting," cried Benoit, the jolly French-Canadian cook. "Good for my healt. He's tak off my front porsch here." And the cook patted affectionately the little round paunch that marred the symmetry of his figure. "You ought to get Cameron to swap jobs with you, Benny," said one of the axemen. "You would be a dandy in about another month."
Benoit let his eye run critically over the line of his person. "Bon! Dat's true, for sure. In tree, four mont I mak de beeg spark on de girl, me." "You bet, Benny!" cried the axeman. "You'll break 'em all up." "Sure ting!" cried Benny, catching up a coal for his pipe. "By by, Cameron. Au revoir. I go for tak some more slice from my porsch." "Good-bye, Benny," cried Cameron.
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