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Updated: June 7, 2025
I did hear it reported that Elder Fry calculates to give up preachin' an' go into the creamery business another spring. You know he's had means left him, and his throat's kind o' give out; trouble with the pipes. I called it brown caters, an' explained nigh as I could without hurtin' of his pride that he'd bawled more 'n any pipes could stand.
'Every stitch of my kit on that blasted dromedary, Dick answered, after the manner of a common soldier. 'Go on, and take care your throat's not cut out side you and your dromedary's. The outcries ceased when the camel had disappeared behind a hillock, and his driver had called him back and made him kneel down. 'Mount first, said Dick.
"My throat's like leather." And seeing that she did not follow, he added: "Thirsty." He stretched his arms. She went to the sideboard and half filled a tumbler with soda water from the siphon. "Drink!" she said, as if to a child. "Just a dash! The tiniest dash!" he pleaded in his rich voice, with a glance at the whisky. "You don't know how it'll pull me together. You don't know how I need it."
"Yow've 'ad enough, my lad," said the host, "to last y'r the rest of y'r life. The next 'oss you rides'll be foaled of an acorn. Let Timothy put him in clink, Master Mayor, and come and have a noggin of the real thing. Gom, I'm that dry my belly'll be thinking my throat's cut." "Arrest this man, Timothy Tomkins, and put him in jail till I can take due order for his trial."
In the pause that followed the delivery of this opinion on a matter that had been thrashed out a hundred times before, his horse gradually carried him farther ahead until he had gone beyond the range of talk. Ulyate, the white hunter, was the next. Kearton had just finished filling his pipe and he silently reached out the bag of tobacco. But Ulyate shook his head. "Throat's too dry," he said.
He walked deliberately back and resumed his seat by the maid. "Courage, Mademoiselle," he said close to her ear. "It is all right." "What will they do, M'sieu?" "Nothing. I have won. Wait the Big Throat is speaking." One by one the warriors fell back to their seats. Some were muttering, some were smiling; but all were subdued. The Big Throat's voice was calm and firm.
Take it like you would medicine unless your throat's too sore. I see you got it all tied up." Val raised her hands in a swift alarm and clasped her throat as if she feared Arline would remove the bandages. "Oh, it's not sore that is, it is sore I mean not very much," she stammered betrayingly. Arline set down the tray upon the dresser and faced Val grimly.
As for Captain Hiram Baker, he hurried home, his conscience reproving him for remaining so long away from his wife and poor little Hiram Joash, more familiarly known as "Dusenberry." Mrs. Baker met her husband at the door. "How is he?" was the Captain's first question. "Better, hey?" "No," was the nervous answer. "No, I don't think he is. His throat's terrible sore and the fever's just as bad."
There's nothing like opin-speakin'. Orth'ris, ye scutt, let me put me oi to that bottle, for my throat's as dhry as whin I thought I wud get a kiss from Annie Bragin. An' that's fourteen years gone! Eyah! Cork's own city an' the blue sky above ut an' the times that was the times that was!
My throat's so far away from my feet, what hurt will it do?" "Children, obey your parents," said the troublesome voice. "Grandma isn't my parent," thought Dotty, tugging away at her boot-lacings.
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