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Updated: June 22, 2025
Your pa's been made a martyr he's beautified his inheritance in Zion whinin' won't do no good." He drew himself up with a shrug, as if to throw off an invisible burden, and answered, calmly: "I'm not whining, Bishop. Perhaps you were right not to tell me over there, Keaton. I'd have made trouble for you all." He smiled painfully in his effort to control himself. "Were you there, Bishop?"
You can fuss and you can fume, if it amuses you any, but 't won't do no good. Don't encourage Waitstill in any whinin' nor blubberin'. Jest tell her to come in and go to work and I'll overlook what she done this time. And don't you give me any more of your eye-snappin' and lip-poutin' and head-in-the-air imperdence!
'You've been wantin' to sell, ain't you? says I. 'I've heard you whinin' around for months because you couldn't sell. Now you HAVE sold. What more do you want? He got mad. 'You ain't sold YOUR holdin's at any fourteen dollars a share, have you? he says. I told him I hadn't. 'No, and I'll bet you won't, either, says he. I told him he'd make money if he could get somebody to take the bet.
But mind now, when you find out what for a fury you’ve got, don’t come whinin’ round me, for I give you fa’r warnin’." Here Dr. Lacey thought proper to say that possibly Mr. Middleton did not understand his daughter. "Not understand her?" repeated Mr. Middleton. "What’s to hinder? She’s my own gal, and I like her well enough; but don’t I know she’s as fiery as a baker’s oven?"
"Syne Bell got orders to tak' the Kite round to Liverpool in water-ballast, and McRimmon came to bid's good-bye, yammerin' an' whinin' o'er the acres o' paint he'd lavished on the Lammergeyer. "'I look to you to retrieve it, says he. 'I look to you to reimburse me! 'Fore God, why are ye not cast off? Are ye dawdlin' in dock for a purpose? "'What odds, McRimmon? says Bell.
"All right, dad," he said, in his quiet, sober way. "I'm glad you've told me. But it don't alter nothin', I guess. Meanwhile I'll git round, an' quit whinin'." The arrival of Rosebud's cousin and her maid somewhat disorganized the Sampsons' simple household. Rosebud's love of mischief was traceable in this incongruous descent upon the farm.
I reckon the 'Paches are going to leave the reservation again." "Do you allow that skunk is aimin' to bushwhack you?" "He's got some such notion. It's a cinch he ain't through with me yet." "Say, Clay, ain't you gettin' homesick for the whinin' of a rawhide? Wha's the matter with us hittin' the dust for good old Tucson? I'd sure like to chase cowtails again." "You can go, Johnnie.
For some reason or other his feet were stone, and he felt shame and guilt. He said a low-spoken Hello! There was no warmth in One-Eye's greeting, either. "Knocked," informed the Westerner. "Got no answer. Then I heard the ole gent kinda whinin', and so I come in." While he talked, that single green eye was peering out of the kitchen window. The tanned face wore a curious, stern look.
By this time the rifle fire out in front was pretty thick and the bullets was hissin' an' whinin' past us an' crackin' on the walls. Another one came through the window an' perforated the old lady's poke-bonnet, but none o' them was comin' near me, an' I was just about happily concludin' I wasn't in the direct line o' fire an' was well covered from strays.
What's this all about? H-m-m-m! Stocks, eh? Just a jiffy while I go through this." Durin' which I've been shooed into the parlor. Some parlor it is, too. I don't know when I've seen a room that came so near whinin' about better days gone by. Every piece of furniture, from the threadbare sofa to the rickety center table, seems kind of sad and sobby.
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