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The young officer resented being spoken to in this rough manner and threatened by a stranger with an American accent, and in as haughty a tone as he could assume he cried, "Who are you? What are you doing here?" "Come, I like that. Hear him. Oh, all right," cried the man, as there was a hoarse chorus of laughter. "Who'm I, eh, my bantam cock?
He'll have undone all the good the last four years have done for you!" But I was another woman now. I felt it in a moment. "Auntie dearest," I answered, moving across to her, and laying my hand on her shoulder to soothe her poor ruffled nerves, "don't be the least alarmed. It's I who'm to blame, and not Maria. I told her to let this gentleman in. He's done me good, not harm.
Accordingly, ladies and men betook themselves to a little garden and there, after they had disported themselves awhile, the hour of supper being come, they supped with mirth and pleasance; then, all arising thence and Emilia, by the queen's commandment, leading the round, the ditty following was sung by Pampinea, whilst the other ladies responded: What lady aye should sing, and if not I, Who'm blest with all for which a maid can sigh?
"Oh! we mustn't go for disturbing her," said the guileful good creature. "Bless ye! let her sleep it out. And if you young gentlemen was to take my advice, and go and take a walk for to get a appetite everybody should eat! it's their sacred duty, no matter what their feelings be! and I say it who'm no chicken! I'll frickashee this which is a chicken against your return.
"Who'm I? Who'm I? I'll show yer bloody well soon who I am." "Well, show me." "Show yer?" "Yes, you big sausage, show me." "Show yer? Show yer?" The big man peered around the ship. Surely it was a mirage. At the very first whoop from the big man the pump-man had stopped dead, softly set down his suit-case, and waited. Now he stepped swiftly toward the big man.
'Sam, har, my children, war wicked, but don't we pity him; don't we tink he had a hard time, and don't we tink de bad oberseer, who'm layin' dar in de house jess ready to gwo and answer for it don't we tink he gabe Sam bery great probincation? 'Dat's so, said a dozen of the auditors. 'Den don't you 'spose dat de blessed Lord know all dat, and dat He pity Sam too?
Sho why, words flowed out of him as naturally as water out of a branch." Of Hannibal's relationship to the judge he said nothing. He felt that was a secret to be revealed by the judge himself when he should see fit. "Uncle Bob, who'm I going to live with now?" questioned Hannibal anxiously. "That p'int's already come up, Nevvy him and me's decided that there won't be no friction.
He is executing my orders." "Who'm yeou to give arders here, gingy whiskers? Yeou come up to the master. They've tu long ears an' vuzzy bellies, an' you nippies they in yeour pockets when they'm dead. Come on up to master! He'll boy yeou all you're a mind to. Yeou other folk bide your side fence." "Explain to the proprietor. You can explain, Sergeant," shouted King.
Suddenly the keeper passed them at a trot. "Who'm they to combe-bottom for Lard's sake? Master'll be crazy," he said. "Poachers simly," Stalky replied in the broad Devon that was the boy's langue de guerre. "I'll poach 'em to raights!" He dropped into the funnel-like combe, which presently began to fill with noises, notably King's voice crying: "Go on, Sergeant! Leave him alone, you, sir.
That didn't work any better than usual; at last he gave up the effort and started eating in spite of the queasiness. "No improvement?" Kelly asked, after a few minutes' silence. "No. I've given up expecting any, but I can't help hoping." Medart took a few more bites, then shook his head and put the fork down. "Who'm I going up against today?"
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