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You mus' not comprehend me, Sare, to intend somesing vat persons call ze Telegraph, such like ze Electric Telegraph of Monsieur Morse, a vulgaire sing of ze vire and ze acid. Mon Dieu, non! far more perfect, far more grrand, far more original! Ze acid may burn ze finger, ze vire vill become rrusty, ze isolation subject always to ze atmosphere. Ah, bah! Vat make you in zat event?
"I have betterr workmen waiting at my door," said he, "far betterr workmen." "You used to think something of my work, sir," I pleaded. "Somesing, somesing yés!" he cried; "énough for a son of a reech man not énough for an orphan. Besides, I sought you might learn to be an artist; I did not sink you might learn to be a workman."
I want to see my brot'ers after the war. So I go say good-bye to my friend. But he say, 'Hold on, Musq'oosis, I goin' too. I say, 'W'at you do up there? Ain't no white men but the comp'ny trader. He say, 'I got fight somesing. I fight nature." "Nature?" repeated Bela, puzzled. Musq'oosis shrugged. "That just his fonny way of talk. He mean chop tree, dig earth, work. So he come wit' me.
"Ah, ha!" he said, "I heard one good reedel ze ozer day. A leetle mees at one of my academies told it me. Young ladies, why is ze old gentlemans, le diable, zat is " "O-oh! Monsieur Parole!" ejaculated Miss Pimpernell. "Your pardon, Mees Peemple," said Monsieur Parole he never could give her the additional syllable to her name "Your pardon, Mees Peemple; but we wiz call hims somesing else.
Finally, with dignity somewhat marred by his bedraggled appearance, he took his place very gingerly in the bow. Bela bit her lips to keep the laughter in. "I not want to laugh," she said naively. "Somesing inside mak' me. Your face look so fonny when you sit down in the water! Laka bear when him hear a noise oh!" Sam glowered in silence. She exerted herself to charm away the black looks.
"I have betterr workmen waiting at my door," said he, "far betterr workmen. "You used to think something of my work, sir," I pleaded. "Somesing, somesing yes!" he cried; "enough for a son of a reech man not enough for an orphan. Besides, I sought you might learn to be an artist; I did not sink you might learn to be a workman."
"Well, and what's your name?" said Harold laughingly. "Aurora and Roy. I belong to Sybyller, and got to tell you somesing." "Have you? Let's hear it." "Sybyller says you's Mr Beecher; when you're done tea, you'd like me if I would to 'scort you to farver and the boys, and 'duce you." Mother laughed. "That's some of Sybylla's nonsense.
"That is bad talk," said Musq'oosis. "All right!" cried Bela passionately. "I goin' be bad woman now. I lak that. I am good woman before. W'at do I get? I get throw down. I get cursed. Now I goin' be bad! I have a fire inside me burn me up lak dry grass. I got do somesing. I goin' be moch bad. Everybody talk about me. Men fight for me! I am handsome. What's the use bein' good?
"Talk! Talk!" cried Bela irritably. "You bus' my head open wit' your talk. I had enough talk. Go to bed." "No, to-night I goin' stay," said Musq'oosis calmly. "I your fat'er's friend, I your friend. I see you goin' to the bad. I got say somesing, I guess." Bela laughed harshly. "Bad! Ol' man talk! What is bad? Everything is bad!" "Mahooley is bad to women," said Musq'oosis. "I know that.
'Young man, says he, 'where go you so late? I says, 'I go to Frankfort. 'Sit in ze carriage zere is room enough, ant I will trag you, he says. 'Bot why have you nosing about you? Your boots is dirty, ant your beart not shaven. I seated wis him, ant says, 'Ich bin one poor man, ant I would like to pusy myself wis somesing in a manufactory.
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