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Updated: May 11, 2025
"Whaffor?" queried Joe dully. "You tell the missus I'm down below ill. Say you think I'm dying," responded the infant Machiavelli, "then you'll see somethink if you keep your eyes open." He went below again, not without a little nervousness, and, clambering into Joe's bunk, rolled over on his back and gave a deep groan.
The skipper stood there a moment, and then he ses: "I wish you'd let me see 'ow my dog looks in your dog's collar," he ses. "Whaffor?" I ses. "On'y fancy," he ses. "Oh, Bill!" "Yes," I ses. "It ain't Christmas," he ses, taking my arm and walking up and down a bit, "but it will be soon, and then I mightn't see you.
"Merely friendly call. And for heaven's sake don't swallow a tack, son. I'm going to need you." "Whaffor?" inquired Willy Cameron, through his nose. "Don't know yet. Make speeches, probably. If Howard Cardew, or any Cardew, thinks he's going to be mayor of this town, he's got to think again." "I don't give a tinker's dam who's mayor of this town, so long as he gives it honest government."
"It's me Joe Barlcomb," ses Joe, "and I want to speak to you very partikler." "Well, speak away," ses Bill. "You go into the back room," he ses, turning to his wife. "Whaffor?" ses Mrs. Jones. "'Cos I don't know wot Joe is going to say," ses Bill. "You go in now, afore I make you."
I 'low you knows dat jes as well as me." An embarrassed silence, and then from Mammy, "Whaffor you laffin at?" "Is the Colonel at home?" "Now I reckon you knows dat he ain't. Ef he was, you ain't come here 'quirin' in dat honey voice." You done come heah to rifle, an' to loot, an' to steal, an' to seize what ain't your'n. You come heah when young Marse ain't to home ter rob him."
And then "Wha' d'ye want?" in bass. His voice was changing; he sounded like two people in animated discussion most of the time. "You boys want to earn a sovereign?" The Purser's boy, who had refused to rouse to this point, sat up in bed. "Whaffor?" he asked. "Get the Chief here some way. You" to the Purser's boy "go and tell him the Red Un's ill and asking for him.
"Whaffor?" he asked, in tones that betrayed the fact that such experiences were not entirely new to him. "I don't know," said Silver in his exasperatingly lazy way. "I feel I'd rather like to." He seemed quietly amused, much more so than was Joses. And he meant what he said.
"It's me Joe Barlcomb," ses Joe, "and I want to speak to you very partikler." "Well, speak away," ses Bill. "You go into the back room," he ses, turning to his wife. "Whaffor?" ses Mrs. Jones. "'Cos I don't know wot Joe is going to say," ses Bill. "You go in now, afore I make you."
"Ef you 'lows us t' come heah an' straighten out you' close, an' mend 'em you dunno how happy you mek me an' Hester des to do dat much, Mis' Brice." The note of appeal was irresistible. Mrs. Brice rose and unlocked the trunks. "You may unpack them, Nancy," she said. With what alacrity did the old woman take off her black bonnet and shawl! "Whaffor you stannin' dere, Hester?" she cried.
"Whaffor?" inquired the amazed Mr. Ricketts. "For another swipe," said Mr. Billing, radiantly. In the fraction of a second he got the first, and reeled back staggering. The onlookers from the bar came out hastily. Mr. Ricketts, somewhat pale, stood his ground. "You see, I don't hit you," said Mr. Billing, with a ghastly attempt at a smile. He stood rubbing his cheek gently, and, remembering Mr.
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