The Attaché; or, Sam Slick in England — Complete by Thomas Chandler Haliburton
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page 30 of 362 (08%)
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tied to it, on pupus to spend time; lit a cigar, opened
the window nearest the rooks, and smoked, but oh the rain killed all the smoke in a minite; it didn't even make one on 'em sneeze. 'Dull musick this, Sam,' sais I, 'ain't it? Tell you what: I'll put on my ile-skin, take an umbreller and go and talk to the stable helps, for I feel as lonely as a catamount, and as dull as a bachelor beaver. So I trampousses off to the stable, and says I to the head man, 'A smart little hoss that,' sais I, 'you are a cleaning of: he looks like a first chop article that.' "'Y mae',' sais he. "'Hullo,' sais I, 'what in natur' is this? Is it him that can't speak English, or me that can't onderstand? for one on us is a fool, that's sartain. I'll try him agin. "So I sais to him, 'He looks,' sais I, 'as if he'd trot a considerable good stick, that horse,' sais I, 'I guess he is a goer.' "Y' mae, ye un trotter da,' sais he. "'Creation!' sais I, 'if this don't beat gineral trainin'. I have heerd in my time, broken French, broken Scotch, broken Irish, broken Yankee, broken Nigger, and broken Indgin; but I have hearn two pure gene_wine_ languages to-day, and no mistake, rael rook, and rael Britton, and I don't exactly know which I like wus. It's no use to |
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