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Sure, if th' fire had went out, she'd easy bake a cake a-top of her temper, and so could Ankaret. Eh, it do take a whole hive of honey to sweeten some folks. There's bees in this world, for sure; but there's many a waps to every bee." In the present day, "waps" is considered a vulgar way of pronouncing the word; but it was correct English at the time of which I am writing.
"Oo oo ee ee ee EE I putted my finger on a waps, and oo oo the nasty waps oo bited me. An' I don't like wapses a bit, but I likes whay-als oo ee ee." A happy thought struck me. "Why don't you boys make believe that big packing-box in your play-room is a whale?" said I. A compound shriek of delight followed the suggestion, and both boys scrambled upstairs, leaving me a free man again.
Curiously enough, there is a society of criminal young men in New York City who are almost the exact counterpart of the Apaches of Paris. They are known by the euphonious name of "Waps" or "Jacks." These are young Italian-Americans who allow themselves to be supported by one or two women, almost never of their own race.
But just then I heerd a buzzin' sound, an' I reckoned there mun be a waps somewheer about. An' a waps it were. He flew round an' round my heead, allus coomin' nearer an' nearer, an' at lang length he settled hissen reight on t' top o' my neb. An' wi' that I gav a jump, an' by Gow! there was I sittin' on t' bench in my 'lotment.
Some of the poets of the present day have used new words and phrases, but they are generally strange words, which no one thinks of using for himself. The poet John Masefield used the word waps and the phrase bee-loud, which is very expressive, but which we cannot imagine passing into ordinary speech.
I'd fallen asleep, an all that I'd seen o' t' potate an' t' pig an' t' house, ay, an' t' lad wi' green eyes, were nobbut a dream. But t' waps weren't a dream, for I'd seen him flee away when I wakkened up." "What you've told me, Abe, is like a bit of real life," I said, after a pause. "Most of our dreams in this world turn into wasps, with stings in their tails."
"Ahr-r-r-chee!" says he. "That Hamand boob, stickin' up for the Waps and Guineas, he he's a nut, a last year's nut!" "Hardly that, Swifty," says I. "A next year's nut, I should say." "It seemed so absurdly simple at first too," says J. Bayard Steele, tappin' one of his pearl-gray spats with his walkin' stick. "But now well, the more I see of this Gerald Webb, the less I understand."
Not only that, but the lower hall is crowded, and they line the stairs halfway up. And such a bunch! Waps, Dagoes, Matzers, Syrians, all varieties. "By Jove, though!" says Pinckney. "What's all this?" "Looks like someone was openin' a sweatshop in the buildin', don't it!" says I. "If that's so, here's where I break my lease." "Really," says Mr.
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