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Updated: June 14, 2025
"I tell yer what," hoarsely said the butcher, still gripping Purt's shoulder, "a boy can deny his own father, but 'e can't deny his dawg no, sir! That there brute knows ye, bub. Only yisterday he grabbed several links of frankfurter sassingers off'n this hook right overhead 'ere.
"Anybody been here lately, Todd?" his master asked, stopping for a moment to get a better grip of his heaviest duck gun. "Ain't nobody been yere partic'ler 'cept Mister Harry Rutter. Dey alls knowed you was away. Been yere mos' ev'ry day come ag'in yisterday." "Mr. Rutter been here! Well, what did he want?" "Dunno, sah, didn't say. Seemed consid'ble shook up when he foun' you warn't to home.
"Nobody can set forth to explain why the thought of you should have been so borne in upon me day before yisterday, your livin' countenance an' all, an' here we be today settin' side o' one another. I've come to rely on them foresights; they've been of consider'ble use in my business, too." "Trade good as common this fall?" inquired Sister Pinkham languidly.
Indeed, I always use a chair, but the back of it, if I may, be permitted the use of a small portion of jocularity, was as frail as the fair sect: it went home yisterday to be mended. Do, sir, condescind to be sated.
The negro groaned as he slowly drew from his breeches pockets two sea-biscuits and a cold sausage. "I meant dat," he said, "as a light lunch for one yisterday." "It'll have to do dooty, then, as a heavy breakfast for three this morning, Ebony. Come, divide, and let's have fair play." "Here, massa," said Ebony, handing the food to Mark, "you divide, I ain't got de moral courage to do it fair.
"Well," said Alfred, "they ain't hostile." "These yere savages is plenty hostile," contradicted the stranger, "and don't you make no mistake thar. I jest nat'rally lifts that pinto offen them yisterday," and he jerked his thumb toward the black-and-white pony in the rear. "And you camps!" cried Alfred, in pure astonishment. "You must be plumb locoed!"
And this," opening her frock to show him a black-and-blue bruise on her breast, "is what I got only day afore yisterday." Tom was burning with indignant compassion, and bursting because he could think of no adequate way of expressing it. In all his fifteen years no one had ever leaned on him before, and the sense of protectorship over this abused one budded and bloomed like a juggler's rose.
He went up to dat buzzard one day wid a little tea-bell in his hand an' says, 'Buzzard, how do ye like music? Says de buzzard, tickled wid de compliment, 'I'm so larnid in dat music, I disdains to sing; I criticises de birds dat does. 'Den, says Mars Milburn, 'I needn't say to ye, P'ofessor Buzzard, dat dis little bell will be very pleasin' to yo' refine taste. Wid dat he takes a little piece o' wire an' fastens de tea-bell to de bird's foot an' says, 'Buzzard, let me hear ye play! De buzzard flew and de bell tinkled, an' all de other buzzards hear some'in' like de cowbell on de dead cow dey picked yisterday, an' dey says, 'Who's dat a flyin' heah?
I did lay aside that piece o' apple pie we had left yisterday from dinner," she confessed. "Fry him out a nice little crisp piece o' pork, Lucy Ann, an' 't will relish with his baked potatoes. He'll think o' his breakfast more times 'n you expect. I know a lad's feelin's when home's put behind him."
"You eat, and I'll tell you all about it, Uncle Tom," she said, and, seating herself at the table also, she told him the story of the man who must go to Bindon. When she had finished, the old man blinked at her for a minute without speaking, then he said, slowly: "I heard something 'bout trouble down at Bindon yisterday from a Hudson's Bay man goin' North, but I didn't take it in.
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