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Updated: May 9, 2025
"But which is the place," asked Mr. George, speaking very deliberately and plainly, "which is the place where we are to be left by the carriage to stay on Sunday? Is it Rolandseck or Koenigswinter?" "Yes, sare," said the porter, making a very polite bow. "Yes, sare, you will go to Rolandseck, and to Kreitzberg, and to Gottesberg, and if you please you can stop at Poppensdorf."
"Sare, I am M. Rouen Montfort, an' I " "It makes no difference to me if you are the high mogul of France. You are on the deck of an English vessel, and you are dealing with Americans." The Frenchman flung his cigar aside and seemed to feel for a weapon. Frank stood there quietly, his eyes watching every movement.
But Jaune was deaf not only to the tailor's blandishments, but to his offers of substantial cash. "Not for the millions would I be in this part of the Marquis for one day yet more," he said firmly. And he added, "I trust to you in honor, sare, that not never shall my name be spoken in this affair." "Couldn't speak it if I wanted to, my dear boy.
Give me my money, you sare, or you, or you;" and the Italian grasped his long black hair with both hands, and danced about in a manner which amused his tormentors greatly, and their laughter put him a rage. "You rob me," he cried, "I will go to the police; I will have you put in prison if you no pay me. Give me my money."
"Thank you, sare," cried Tony, bowing very low, indeed. The following Saturday Brimmer returned to the little shop with a small party of friends. Late that afternoon Tony was richer by a few dollars. "You one ver' good frien', sare," protested the delighted Tony. "Me? I your ver' good frien', too. I do anything for you, sare try me!" "I'm getting Tony about where I want him," thought Mr. Brimmer.
"SHLOFFEMSCHWIEGEL!" bursts out the dreadful bootmaker. "Mein Gott, mein Gott! das geht nicht! I tell you, sare, it is no go. Miss Crotty is my niece. I vill go down myself. I vill never let her marry dat goot-for-nothing schwindler and tief." SUCH was the language that the scoundrel ventured to use regarding me! Was there ever such confounded ill-luck?
“Your bill, sare.” “My friend is paying.” “No, Mr Welsh,” cried the real Essington; “I think you had better pay for this dinner yourself.” Welsh saw the vigilant proprietor already coming towards him, and with a look that augured ill for Twiddel when they were alone, he put his hand in his pocket. “Ha, ha!” laughed Essington, “the inevitable bill!”
"You are plain spoken." "I 'm plain made, my lord. I ken guid frae ill, an' little forbye, but aye fand that eneuch to sare my turn. Aither thae letters o' yer lordship's are ilk ane o' them a lee, or ye desertit yer wife an' bairn." "Alas!" interrupted the marquis with some emotion "she deserted me and took the child with her!"
"Yes, sare," said the Roman general, who I afterwards found was a runaway slave from Kentucky. "I'll not singe his whiskers even. Come here, massa;" and seizing me by the shoulder, he dragged me forward away from the rest of the people. "What's your name?" asked my black keeper, as he made me sit down on the bits of the bowsprit.
"Friendly Pottawattamies! no, sare," returned the Canadian seriously, and shrugging up his shoulders. "Dey no dress, no paint like de Pottawattamie, and I not like der black look no, sare, dey Winnebago." He laid a strong emphasis on the last word, and as he expected, a general "ugh" among the party attested that he had correctly named their tribe.
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