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I 'd be glad if you 'd let me have my rooms as soon as possible." "So you goin' to put me out on de wo'd of a stranger?" "I 'm kin' o' sorry, but everybody in the house heard what Mis' Brown said, an' it 'll soon be all over town, an' that 'ud ruin the reputation of my house." "I reckon all dat kin be 'splained." "Yes, but I don't know that anybody kin 'splain your daughter allus being with Mr.
But she wanted ter turn 'im back long ernuff fer ter 'splain ter 'im dat she hadn' went off a-purpose, en lef' 'im ter be chop' down en sawed up. She didn' want Sandy ter die wid no hard feelin's to'ds her.
But ef you en young miss dere doan' min' lis'nin' ter a ole nigger run on a minute er two w'ile you er restin', I kin 'splain to you how it all happen'." We assured him that we would be glad to hear how it all happened, and he began to tell us.
"But what I feels, I feels, an' what I unnerstan's, I unnerstan's. The Scripture tell us to get unnerstannin'." "Well, dat's what I's been a-doin' to-night. I's been a-doubtin' an' a-doubtin', a-foolin' erroun' an' wonderin', but now I unnerstan'." "'Splain yo'se'f, Brothah Middleton," said the preacher. "Well, suh, I will to you. You knows Miss Sally Briggs? Huh, what say?"
"Just so," said Flaggan; "but it's not common to hear of Moors bein' taken aboard our men o' war, d'ee see. It's that as puzzles me." "Oh, that's easy to 'splain," returned Ali. "The fac' is, I'd bin for sev'l year aboord a Maltese trader 'tween Meddrainean an' Liverp'l, and got so like a English tar you coodn't tell the one fro' the oder. Spok English, too, like natif."
Miss M'ree, dat may 'splain t'ings to you, but hit ain' mek 'em light to me yit." "Now, Mrs. Marston" began her husband, chuckling. "Hush, I tell you, George. It's really just as I tell you, Eliza, the old man is tired and needs rest!" Again the old woman shook her head, "Huh uh," she said, "ef you'd' a' seen him gwine lickety split outen de meetin'-house you wouldn' a thought he was so tiahed."
"The confession's complete," Braceway told Greenleaf, clipping his words short. "Take him away. No wait!" He pulled a pen from his pocket and turned to the prisoner. "Oh, the signature," Bristow said coolly. "I forgot that." He took the typewritten pages roughly from Fulton, and in a bold, free hand wrote at the bottom of each: "Thomas F. Splain."
I sut'ny has talked to him and labohed wid him night an' day, but it was allers in vain, an' I's feahed dat de day of his reckonin' is at han'. "Ain't I nevah been intrusted in racin'? Humph, you don't s'pose I been dead all my life, does you? What you laffin' at? Oh, scuse me, scuse me, you unnerstan' what I means. You don' give a ol' man time to splain hisse'f.
"You eat lambs and sheep and cows and pigs and even chickens." "But we cook 'em," said Dorothy, triumphantly. "What difference does that make?" "A good deal," said the girl, in a graver tone. "I can't just 'splain the diff'rence, but it's there. And, anyhow, we never eat such dreadful things as BUGS." "But you eat the chickens that eat the bugs," retorted the yellow hen, with an odd cackle.
But the old man possessed a stubborn soul, not easily to be frightened. "Wot I says in de pulpit," he remarked, "I'll 'splain in de pulpit, an' you all ud better git 'long to de chu'ch, an' when de time fur de sarvice come, I'll be dar."
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