There's something about bargain
and sale that's mean and censorious, finding this fault and finding
that fault, and paying just as little as ever they can. It gets on
one's nerves. It really does.
The boys that made the little white spots come on the corners of
their jaws as they lay there in the grass, scheming, scheming,
scheming, planned rags, and bottles, and scrap-iron, and more also.
Sometimes it was a plan so much bigger that if they had kept it to
themselves, like the darkey's cow, they would have "all swole up
and died."
"Sst! Come here once. Tell you sumpum. Now don't you go and blab
it out, now will you? Hope to die? Well . . . . Now, no kiddin'.
Cross your heart? Well . . . . Ah, you will, too. I know you.
You go and tattle everything you hear . . . . Well. . . . Cheese
it! Here comes somebody. Make out we're talkin' about sumpum else.
Ah, he did, did he? What for, I wonder? (Say sumpum, can't ye?)
Why 'nu' ye say sumpum when he was goin' by? Now he'll suspicion
sumpum 's up, and nose around till he . . . . Aw, they ain't no use
tellin' you anything . . . . Well. Put your head over so 's I can
whisper. Sure I am. . . . Well, I could learn, couldn't I? Now
don't you tell a living soul, will you? If anybody asts you, you
tell 'em you don't know anything at all about it.
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