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Couldn't mek it. Dum thing slanted luk Tup's Hill. Hung on awhile, cipherin' es hard es I knew how. Hearn suthin' go kerslap. Seem so the hull place trembled. Raised up my head, 'n' peeked over my stumick down the box. A bar o' light stuck in away down. Let myself go careful till I c'u'd see my nose in it.
Sure it stops the cravin's o' hunger, and kapes yer stumick from callin' out for iver, till ye fall in with somethin' to ate." "It does not seem to stop the mouth then, Barney, for you call out for grub oftener than I do; and then you say that you couldn't get on without it; so you're a slave to it old boy. I wouldn't be a slave to anything if I could help it." "Martin, lad, ye're gittin' deep.
Sure it stops the cravin's o' hunger, and kapes yer stumick from callin' out for iver, till ye fall in with somethin' to ate." "It does not seem to stop the mouth then, Barney, for you call out for grub oftener than I do; and then you say that you couldn't get on without it; so you're a slave to it, old boy. I wouldn't be a slave to anything if I could help it." "Martin, lad, ye're gittin' deep.
We gets to goin' faster 'n' faster. I can't see, 'n' I think my eyebrows have blowed off. I'm so scared I feel like my stumick has crawled up in my chest, but I hopes this is the limit, 'n' I grits my teeth to keep from yelpin'. Just then we hits a long straight road, 'n' what we'd been doin' before seemed like backin' up. I can't breathe 'n' I can't stand no more of it. "'Holy cats! I yells.
"Wel youve no notion what a work we hav wid the goold, bekais, dee see, weer pikin it up in handfulls, sumtimes wid a nugit, now an again, like yer fist, an the boys is raither exited, for ov koorse they kant al keep as kool as me but let that pas. as I wor sayin, the row is diffinin for that blakgird Buckywangy is spinin a yarn as long as the mane yard o a sivinty-fore about wan o' thim spalpeens in the kanible ilands as had his unkles darters waitin maid, as wor a slaiv, hashed up, wid two litle boys an a pig, into what hees got the face to call a Irish stu, an it didnt sit lit on the Kanibles stumick for the raisin they forgot the pepper its not aisy to write wid sich blarny ringin' in wans eers an the boys larfin too as loud, amost as the nigers yel in the Kanible islands be the way, that minds me o purty miss westwood as we met thair. its mistress osten sheel be by this no doubt, plaiz give her Larry's best respeks, an its wishin her good luck i am, an the saim to yersilf.
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