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Updated: June 25, 2025
"What were you doing with that book, doctor? Do you keep a log of the voyage?" "Well, ya-as," drawled the steward. "I keep a log of this voyage, and a log of the voyage of life. I've kept a diary ever since I taught school; and that's seven years ago, come winter." "It must be worth reading. I should like to look it over, if we have to stay out here another day.
Das de onliest laig it had, says she. "'What do yo' mean? Mars' Colby cry. 'Yo' tell me my goose ain' hab but one laig? "'Ya-as, suh. Das hit. On'y one laig, says dat scar't yaller gal, an' ter clinch it she added, 'All yo' geese dat a-ways, Mars' Colby. Dey all ain' got but one laig." "Oh!" squealed Dot. "Was it sure enough so, Uncle Rufus?" asked Tess, in awe. "Yo' wait! yo' wait, chillen!
"Well, now," he would say, "you take this year's wheat crop with about 917,000,000 bushels of wheat harvested, why, that's what's going to win the war! Yes, sirree! No wheat, no winning, that's what I say." "Ya-as, it is!" the city men would scoff. But the queer part of it is that Farmer Ben was right. Minnie got into the habit of using him as a sort of nursemaid.
"I'll come back and see you again indeed I will!" she said, brokenly, and hugging and kissing little Lottie impetuously, she released her and ran out of the ugly, dark little store. It is doubtful if Hopewell Drugg even heard her. The violin was still wailing away, while he searched out slowly the minor notes of the old, old song. "Hopewell Drugg? Ya-as," drawled Aunt Almira.
The captain regarded this operation with huge astonishment. "Gracious king!" he exclaimed. "What in thunder are you doin' that for? This is the private room in here, ain't it?" Mr. Winslow, returning to his chair, nodded. "Ya-as," he admitted, "that's why I'm puttin' the 'Private' sign on this side of the door."
"Wal, mebbe I was sixteen; mebbe seventeen. Boys up here in the woods have to cut their own vittles pretty airly. I was doin' a man's labor when I was 'leven. Ya-as, Miss! Had to work for me an' marm. "And marm worked, too. One day I started for Drownville with a big bundle of aperns marm had sewed for Mis' Juneberry that kep' store at Drownville.
"Ya-as," said he. "Casey like Clyde?" "Clyde likee Casey," Feng responded knowingly. "Casey call um woman fliend. Lats! All same big Melican bluff, makee me sick. Bimeby some time she makee mally him. Bimeby baby stop. Then me quit. Me go back to China." The prophet's last words blurred in Clyde's ringing ears. The friendly darkness hid her flaming cheeks. Why, oh why, had she listened?
"Dey stan' her up befo' Mars' Colby, an' hes eyes look lak' dey was red ya-as'm! 'Sally Alley, he roar at her, 'whar de odder laig ob dis goose? "Sally Alley shake like a willer by de ribber, an' she blurt out: 'Mars' Colby! sho' 'nuff dar warn't no odder laig on dat goose. "'Wha' dat? say he, moughty savage. 'On'y one laig on dis goose? "'Ya-as, suh sho' 'nuff.
"What sort of a yarn have you been giving these passengers, Nick?" demanded the conductor. "Well, Ah jes' done got t' tell 'em sumpin' t' pacify 'em," whispered the darkey. "No use lettin' 'em think dey gwyne t' starb t' death. Ah tell 'em yo' done sent back t' de Junction for a car-load ob eats an' dat it's expected t' arrive any hour. Ya-as, sah!" "Why, you atrocious falsifier!" ejaculated Mr.
"Ya-as," drawled Frenchy, delving into the possibilities suddenly opened to him and determining to utilize to the fullest extent the opportunity that had come to him unsought. "There's nine over to Muddy Wells that yu might git if yu wants them bad enough. They've got a sombrero of mine," he added deprecatingly. "Nine! Twisted Jerusalem, Buck!
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