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Updated: June 18, 2025
When Bud and Cactus ceased talking they heard Piggy's formidable voice holding forth to the others as usual while he was engaged in checking, though never satisfying, his ravening appetite. "Wat's de use," he was saying, "of chasin' little red cowses and hosses 'round for t'ousands of miles? Dere ain't nuttin' in it.
Briggs and the maid. "Oh!" said the third voice, with a little catch in it. "Who is it, please? Who is it? What is the person's name?" Mrs. Briggs scowled at me. "Wat's your name?" she snapped. "My name is Knowles. I am an American relative of Mr. Morley's and I'm here in answer to a letter written by Mr. Morley himself." There was a moment's silence.
"Damn his soul!" cried Handy Solomon, his face livid. He threw his rifle to the beach and danced on it in an ecstasy of rage. "What do we care," growled Thrackles, "he's no good to us. W'at I want to know is, wat's up here, anyhow!" "Didn't you never see a volcano go off, you swab?" snapped Handy Solomon. "Easy with your names, mate. No, I never did. We better get out." "Without the chest?"
"New people are coming all the time and they'll beat us in if we don't look out." His comrade shrugged. "Mebbe so; but s'posin' dey do. Wat's de hodds? She's beeg countree; dere's plenty claims." "Are there, really?" Phillips' eyes brightened. "You're an old- timer; you've been 'inside. Do you mean there's plenty of gold for all of us?" "Dere ain't 'nuff gold in all de worl' for some people."
Seeing that the noose had slipped across the face, he tried to push it down, but the mail glove hampering him he pulled it off, and grasped the rope above the lad's head with his naked hand. Quick as a flash old Wat's arrow had sped, and the Butcher sprang back with a howl of pain, his hand skewered by a cloth-yard shaft. As he shook it furiously at his enemies a second grazed his knuckles.
You moved it since I was here." "I'll have 'im put back," laughed the other. "Say! It's a grand thing to be rich, ain't it?" "I don' know, I ain' never try it." "Well, it is; and now that I've arrived, I'm goin' to change my ways complete. No more extravagance in mine I'll never lend another cent." "Wat's dat?" ejaculated Doret, in amazement. "No more hard-luck stories and 'hurry-ups' for mine.
Oh, you young women wat's er singin' uv reel chunes! Oh, you chil'en wat's er sassin' uv ole folks! Oh, you ole pussons wat's er fussin' an' quarlin'! Oh, you young folks wat's er dancin' an' prancin'! Oh, you niggers wat's er slightin' uv yer wuck! Oh! pay 'tenshun ter de message dis ebenin', caze yer gwine wake up some er deze mornin's, an' dar at yer do's 'll be de s'ord an' de famine.
His blue eyes look lak he love to kill us. "'Fall in! he says, an' we does. 'Go for'd, he says, an' we goes. "'Now' he says, wat's all dis about? "'Well, says Jack, 'I didn't staht no fight. I jes' goes into a saloon, peaceful like, an' a damn Limey says, pointin' to a British flag on dere own ship, 'You see dat flag? "'Aye, says Jack, 'an' still I don't see nuthin'.
"I can't make aout wat's come over ye. Ye talk 's though ye didn' keer a Bungtaown copper wether we fit or run, or stayed an got hung, but jess set thar a grinnin tew yerself ez if ye'd loss yer wits." Perez laughed again, but checking himself, replied: "I s'pose I do seem a little queer, Abner, but you mustn't mind that. I hope I haven't lost my wits quite.
The boy had never been in such a place before, and he gazed wonderingly at the frescoes, the rich colours in the windows, the dark carved woodwork and the wide chancel and pulpit. "Wat's it all for, I wonder," he said, half aloud, and then started and flushed as his own voice broke the beautiful, solemn silence.
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