Forester?
Gin? yes, I have got some prime gin! You never sent me up them groceries
though, Archer; well, then, here's luck! What, Yorkshire, is that you? I
should ha' thought now, Archer, you'd have cleared that lazy Injun out
afore this time!"
"Whoy, measter Draa--what 'na loike's that kind o' talk? coom coom now,
where'll Ay tak t' things tull?"
"Put Mr. Forester's box in the bed-room off the parlor--mine up stairs,
as usual," cried Archer. "Look sharp and get the traps out. Now, Tom, I
suppose you have got no supper for us?"
"Cooper, Cooper! you snooping little devil," yelled Tom, addressing his
second hope, a fine dark-eyed, bright-looking lad of ten or twelve
years; "Don't you see Mr. Archer's come?--away with you and light the
parlor fire, look smart now, or I'll cure you! Supper--you're always
eat! eat! eat! or, drink! drink!--drunk! Yes! supper; we've got pork!
and chickens..."
"Oh! d--n your pork," said I, "salt as the ocean I suppose!"
"And double d--n your chickens," chimed in Harry, "old superannuated
cocks which must be caught now, and then beheaded, and then soused into
hot water to fetch off the feathers; and save you lazy devils the
trouble of picking them.
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