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Updated: June 8, 2025
And now as the tears cleared away he saw also, what Angy's eyes had already noted, the inscription in warm crimson letters on the shining blue side of the cup, "To Our Beloved Brother." "Sisters," he mumbled, for he could do no more than mumble as he took his gift, "ef yew'd been gittin' ready fer me six months, yew couldn't have done no better."
Yew'd 'a' thought he was sellin' out the Empery o' Rooshy. Hy-guy, it sounded splendid. Fust off I thought he'd raise us more 'n we expected. An' mebbe he would have tew, Angy," a bit ruefully, "ef yew'd 'a' let me advertise a leetle sooner. I don't s'pose half Shoreville knows yit that we was gwine ter have a auction sale."
"Perhaps I can," said Mark, sharply, as he cast an eye over the deck. "What ship's this?" "Ef yew'd looked at her starnboard yew'd hev seen, mister. She's the Mariar B Peasgood, o' Charleston, South Carlinar, trading in notions. What's yourn?" "Prize to her Britannic Majesty's ship Nautilus."
I serpose w'en he kaint get nary fish he do de same ez de 'bowhead' go er siftin eout dem little tings we calls whale-feed wiv dat ar' rangement he carry in his mouf." "But why don't we harpoon him?" I asked. Goliath turned on me a pitying look, as he replied, "Sonny, ef yew wuz ter go on stick iron inter dat ar fish, yew'd fink de hole bottom fell eout kerblunk.
Thar be young 'uns an' young 'uns," he elucidated, "but they be tartars! Yew'd be in yer grave afore the fust frost; an' who's a-gwine ter bury yer the taown?" His tone became gentle and broken: "No, no, Angy. Yew be a good gal, an' dew jest as we calc'lated on. Yew jine the Old Ladies'; yew've got friends over thar, yew'll git erlong splendid. An' I'll git erlong tew.
"Guess yew'd best keep from ahind that theer hatchway, strangers, for I'm out o' practyse, and I'm going to make a target o' that theer door." "Stand down, Tom," said Mark. "Oh, I ain't feared, sir, if you like to say keep on," cried Tom Fillot. "I know that, my lad; but I'm not going to run foolish risks."
'That it should ever come ta this! And hev yew anything left oover? "'Yes, I say. 'I've got a matter of a hunnerd an' four pound clear arter payin' ivery farden owin', an' the stock an' nets an' gear and tew boots an' all wha'ss mortgaged ta yew. Now I'll ha'e no more on't. Ayther I'm master or I ha' done wi't. "'Oh dear! oh dear! Posh, he say, 'I din't think as yew'd made so much."
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