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Updated: May 12, 2025
"A gay burlesquer?" "Sure champagne goil and gay burlesquer." "A champagne girl!" "Dat's what I said." "You mean that she is upon the stage?" "Sure dat's it!" "Oh!" Mr. Tutt looked relieved. "What had you and Miss Malone been doing that afternoon?" "I told yer walkin'." Mr. Tutt coughed slightly. "Is that all?" "Say, watcha drivin' at?" Mr. Tutt elevated his bushy eyebrows.
"Something," said Eugene quietly, still working. The helper came in. "Watcha' doin'?" he asked. "He's drawin' a pitcher, ya rube, watchye suppose he's doin'," informed the blacksmith authoritatively. "Don't git too close. He's gotta have room." "Aw, whose crowdin'?" asked the helper irritably.
The young woman grinned mirthlessly. "I should say not!" she snapped. "They pays me to look out for 'em their fathers and mothers in the factory. Watcha want?" "What do you pay for a house like this?" The hired mother's brow wrinkled, and her lips drew back in an ugly snarl. "They robs us, these landlords does. We gotter be 'longside the works, so they robs us. What do I pay for this?
Cash was hurrying to finish his scrubbing before the charcoal gave out, and was keeping an eye on the crunching to see that Lovin Child did not get a hot ember. "H'yah! You young imp!" Bud shouted, stubbing his toe as he hurried forward. "Watcha think you are a fire-eater, for gosh sake?" Cash bent his head low it may have been to hide a chuckle.
On his head he wore his favorite headgear, a disreputable white cotton cap with the words "Goldenrod Flour Mills" across the front. "Well," he said belligerently, to Margery, "do you see anything green?" Margery shrugged her shoulders. "Watcha playing?" "Nothing! Want to play it?" replied Lydia. "Thanks," answered Margery. "I'll watch you two while I sit with the baby.
Trying to, anyway. Doing a better job than she was. He plunged across the street, blindly, choking a little with the bitterness that had him by the throat. Hey! Watcha! A shout rising to a scream. A bump. Numbness. Silence. Nothingness. "Well, anyway, Cora," said the girls in the Crowd, "you certainly were a wonderful wife to him. You can always comfort yourself with that thought.
There was no response to her imperative knock, but a middle-aged man appeared on the porch of the adjoining shack and observed her curiously. "Wanta rent?" he called jëeringly. "Are you in charge here?" Geneviève inquired. "Sorter," he temporized. "Watcha want?" "I want some one who knows something about it to go around Kentwood with us." "What for?" he snarled. "I got my orders."
We turned in. As I reached over to extinguish the lantern I issued my last command for the day. "Watcha kalele, Saa-sita," I told the askari; at once he lifted up his voice to repeat my words. "Watcha kalele!" Immediately from the Responsible all over camp the word came back-from gunbearers, from M'ganga, from tent boys-"kalele! kalele! kalele!"
A stranger passing might have thought them about to come to blows. But they were simply noisy with earnestness. Their argument was as unlike one of the debates in Vergil's Eclogues as possible. It was an antistrophe of twang and drawl: "Gee, you durned fool, watcha want gointa business for?" "Durned fool your own self! Watcha wanta be a writer for?"
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