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Updated: May 19, 2025
Sam and Peter followed 'im out like lambs, 'ardly daring to look over their shoulder at Ginger, who was staggering arter them some distance behind a 'olding a handerchief to 'is face. "It's your turn to pay, Sam," ses Bill, when they'd got inside the next place. "Wot's it to be? Give it a name."
Blake and his friend back to the dressing-tent. "We'll see who's running this show," he declared, taking a fresh grip on the stake, and rolling the dangling cigar over and over between his teeth. "Hold on, Camp," said Grinaldi, checking the attendant with a gesture. "See 'ere, Tom," he went on earnestly, "wot's the reason you won't give this one an even chance with the others?"
'Hi, there, you, says my gentleman, callin' to me as soon as we were alone, 'this accursed business 'as played the devil with me, an' I need a servant. 'Ow much do you want to stay wi' me? 'Twenty-five shillin' a week, says I, doin' myself proud while I 'ad the chance. 'I'll give ye thirty, says 'e; 'wot's ye name? 'Jacob Trimble, sir, says I. 'An' a most accursed name it is!
"Ah, sir," nodded the old groom, as Barnabas tested girth and stirrup-leathers, "you done mighty well when you bought 'im theer ain't another 'oss 'is ekal in London no, nor nowheers else as I knows on. 'E's won one race for you, and done it noble, and wot's more sir " "Tonight he must win me another!" said Barnabas, and swung himself into the saddle.
Dere was near a riot as I passes along a street goin' to yer place, an' I gets piped off to wot's up, an' it's de same story dat Pinkie's told, an' de crib's cracked, an' de money's gone dat's all." Shluker's face fell. "I said you were fools when I first came in here!" he burst out suddenly, wheeling on Pinkie Bonn and the Pug. "I'm sure of it now.
"W'en ye don't know," remarked Bill Jones, sententiously, removing the pipe from his lips, and looking fixedly at his messmate, "W'en ye don't know wot's under ye, nor the coorse o' nature, w'ich is always more or less a-doin' things oncommon an' out o' the way, ye shouldn't ought to speckilate on wot ye know nothin' about, until ye find out how's her head, an' w'ich way the land lies.
"I guess y'aint chopped many sticks, 'ave yer?" "No," I said; "and I'm terrified of the thing!" I sat on the steps and watched him deftly slicing the wood into thin slips. "This is a fatigue," I said, by way of an explanation. That tickled him! He stopped and chuckled, "You do fatigues just the same as we do?" he asked. "I never heard anything to beat that. Well I never, wot's the crime, I wonder?
Oo's turn next? FRED. Wot's the bleedin' good of bein' dahn in the mahf abaht it? Give me the bleedin' 'ump, you do. JIM. Are we dahn-'earted? Not 'alf, we ain't! BILL. I don't know as I cares. Git it over, I sez. 'Ave done wiv it! I dessay as them wot's gone West is better off nor wot we are, arter all.
"I wants to know wot's all dis talkin' about. I ain't got all day to sit here and listen to chin-moosic. Wot's de trouble?" It was easy to see that Duffer had been drinking. No man in his senses would have ventured so rudely to have checked the flow of Mr. O'Fake's oratory. Duffer had clearly been drinking, and the lion whose anger he had roused turned upon him quickly.
He was pleased to see 'ow anxious they all looked, and when they did come to the shop 'e set up a laugh that old Cook said chilled the marrer in 'is bones. He stood looking in a 'elpless sort o' way at his wife and Emma, and then at last he ses, "There it is; and a fair bargain at the price." "I s'pose you ain't been drinking?" ses Charlie. "Wot's the matter with it?" ses Mrs. Cook flaring up.
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