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The lunch baskets were emptied. The party were fully two hours eating. There were huge loaves of rye bread full of grains of chickweed. There were weiner-wurst and frankfurter sausages. There was unsalted butter. There were pretzels. There was cold underdone chicken, which one ate in slices, plastered with a wonderful kind of mustard that did not sting. There were dried apples, that gave Mr.
Bud chanted vain-gloriously. "How's that, Skyrider? Ain't that purty fair po'try?" "It don't fit into the tune with a cuss," Tex criticized jealously. "Pass over that po'try of Johnny's. Yo' all ain't needin' it not if you aims to make up yore own words." "C'm 'ere! You wall-eyed weiner-wurst!" Johnny harshly addressed the horse he was after.
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