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"That's the favorite method," replied Richling. "Well, I dunno 'ow 'tis, Mistoo Itchlin, but I fine the moze facil'ty in the poetic. 'Tis t'ue, in the poetic you got to look out concehning the 'ime. You got to keep the eye skin' faw it, in fact. But in the p'osaic, on the cont'a-ay, 'tis juz the opposite; you got to keep the eye skin' faw the sense. Yesseh.
"Why but that isn't good news, then." Narcisse gave his head a bright, argumentative twitch. "Yesseh. 'Tis t'ue he 'efuse'; but ad the same time I dunno I thing he wasn' so mad about it as he make out. An' you know thass one thing, Mistoo Itchlin, whilce they got life they got hope; and hence I ente'tain the same."
But they's got one maxim what you may 'ave 'eard I do not fine that maxim always come t'ue. 'Ave you evva yeah that maxim, 'A fool faw luck'? That don't always come t'ue. I 'ave discove'd that." "No," responded Richling, with a parting smile, "that doesn't always come true." Dr. Sevier denounced the world at large, and the American nation in particular, for two days.
Her arms were full of big rolls of cartridge paper and tracing paper. "I'm so pleased," she said. "It's 'eady at last and I can show you." She banged the whole armful down upon a vivid little table of inlaid black and white wood. He rescued one or two rolls and a sheet of tracing paper from the floor. "It's the Temple," she panted in a significant whisper. "It's the Temple of the One T'ue God!"
They're just simply ferst tlass." "'Tis t'ue," rejoined the Creole, fanning himself with his straw hat and looking at the Pope. "And they handsome and genial, as the lite'ati say on the noozpapeh. Seem like they almoze wedded to each otheh." "Well, now, sir, that's the trooth!" She threw her open hand down with emphasis. "And isn't that as man and wife should be?"
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