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Updated: June 1, 2025
"Put out that dog, Abner Briggs!" The master spoke as the captain speaks to the helmsman, when there are rocks foaming at the lips, right under his lee. Abner Briggs answered as the helmsman answers, when he knows he has a mutinous crew round him that mean to run the ship on the reef, and is one of the mutineers himself. "Put him aout y'rself, 'f ye a'n't afeard on him!"
Elect a man Constable, an' he wants t' put on more airs than the Guv-nor; marry him, an' he makes ye his slave." "I should think it'd be a bold man that'd try to make you his slave. Madam," Si ventured. "Y' she'd think," she retorted, with her arms akimbo. "Who axed y' t' think, young feller? What d' y' do hit with. Why d' y' strain y'rself doin' somethin' y' ain't used t'?"
He's the best shot in the ship, I'm certain." "Y'rself excepted," interposed the captain wonderfully politely for him; singing out loudly at the same time, "Bosun!" "Here, sorr," cried Tim, who had been waiting below close to the poop ladder, expecting the summons, and who was all agog at the prospect of a fight. "Here I am, sorr."
There Johnnie took his stand. He glanced round at the longshoreman. "No, we don't want y' on this trip," he said firmly. He felt in a pocket for a five-cent piece, found it, and tossed it to Barber. "Go and buy y'rself a lemon soda," he bade kindly. "Hurry and git away, 'cause some folks is comin'." Poor Barber!
I thought it was goin' t freeze up f'r good last night. Tight squeak if I get m' ploughin' done. How's farmin' with you these days?" "Bad. Ploughin' ain't half done." "It 'ud be a religious idee f'r you t' go out an' take a hand y'rself." "I don't haff to," said Butler, with a wink. "Got anybody on the Higley place?" "No. Know of anybody?" "Waal, no; not eggsackly.
"Feedin' the chickens. You ain't goin' to take him off this mornin' now! I don't care where you go." "Who's a-goin' to take him off? I ain't said nothin' about takin' him off." "Wall, take y'rself off, an' if y' ain't here f'r dinner, I ain't goin' to get no supper."
"This guy's wanted f'r something over in England. We've got h's photographs 'n th' office. If y' ask me, he lit out with the spoons 'r something. Say!" She fixed one of the geniuses with her compelling eye. "'Bout time y' made y'rself useful. Go'n call up th' Astorbilt on th' phone. There's a dame there that's been making the enquiries f'r this duck.
"'Naow, Dutchman, said Hiram, 'if you don't want to be planted in that are post-hole, y'd better take y'rself out o' this here piece of private property. "Dangerous passin," as the sign-posts say, abaout these times.
Just what the man said after that Uncle Ethan didn't follow. His voice had a confidential purring sound as he stretched across the wagon-seat and talked on, eyes half shut. He straightened up at last, and concluded in the tone of one who has carried his point: "So! If you didn't want to use the whole twenty-five bottles y'rself, why! sell it to your neighbors.
Show's y'r receipt." Donovan had nothing to say; he preferred to be silent. "Then," Dad went on, "clear out of this as fast as you can go, an' think y'rself lucky." He cleared, but on foot. Dad gazed after him, and, as he left the paddock, said: "One too many f' y' that time, Mick Donovan!"
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