Part 105 (1/2)

Query. Who's astanding this here do? Proud possessor of d.a.m.nall. Declare misery. Bet to the ropes. Me nantee saltee. Not a red at me this week gone. Yours? Mead of our fathers for the _ubermensch._ Dittoh. Five number ones. You, sir? Ginger cordial. Chase me, the cabby's caudle.

Stimulate the caloric. Winding of his ticker. Stopped short never to go again when the old. Absinthe for me, savvy? _Caramba!_ Have an eggnog or a prairie oyster. Enemy? Avuncular's got my timepiece. Ten to. Obligated awful. Don't mention it. Got a pectoral trauma, eh, Dix? Pos fact. Got bet be a boomblebee whenever he wus settin sleepin in hes bit garten.

Digs up near the Mater. Buckled he is. Know his dona? Yup, sartin I do.

Full of a dure. See her in her dishybilly. Peels off a credit. Lovey lovekin. None of your lean kine, not much. Pull down the blind, love.

Two Ardilauns. Same here. Look slippery. If you fall don't wait to get up. Five, seven, nine. Fine! Got a prime pair of mincepies, no kid. And her take me to rests and her anker of rum. Must be seen to be believed.

Your starving eyes and allbeplastered neck you stole my heart, O gluepot. Sir? Spud again the rheumatiz? All poppyc.o.c.k, you'll scuse me saying. For the hoi polloi. I vear thee beest a gert vool. Well, doc?

Back fro Lapland? Your corporosity sagaciating O K? How's the squaws and papooses? Womanbody after going on the straw? Stand and deliver.

Pa.s.sword. There's hair. Ours the white death and the ruddy birth. Hi!

Spit in your own eye, boss! Mummer's wire. Cribbed out of Meredith.

Jesified, orchidised, polycimical jesuit! Aunty mine's writing Pa Kinch.

Baddybad Stephen lead astray goodygood Malachi.

Hurroo! Collar the leather, youngun. Roun wi the nappy. Here, Jock braw Hielentman's your barleybree. Lang may your lum reek and your kailpot boil! My tipple. _Merci._ Here's to us. How's that? Leg before wicket.

Don't stain my brandnew sitinems. Give's a shake of peppe, you there.

Catch aholt. Caraway seed to carry away. Twig? Shrieks of silence. Every cove to his gentry mort. Venus Pandemos. _Les pet.i.tes femmes_. Bold bad girl from the town of Mullingar. Tell her I was axing at her. Hauding Sara by the wame. On the road to Malahide. Me? If she who seduced me had left but the name. What do you want for ninepence? Machree, macruiskeen.

s.m.u.tty Moll for a mattress jig. And a pull all together. _Ex!_

Waiting, guvnor? Most deciduously. Bet your boots on. Stunned like, seeing as how no s.h.i.+ners is acoming. Underconstumble? He've got the c.h.i.n.k _ad lib_. Seed near free poun on un a spell ago a said war hisn.

Us come right in on your invite, see? Up to you, matey. Out with the oof. Two bar and a wing. You larn that go off of they there Frenchy bilks? Won't wash here for nuts nohow. Lil chile velly solly. Ise de cutest colour c.o.o.n down our side. Gawds teruth, Chawley. We are nae fou.

We're nae tha fou. Au reservoir, mossoo. Tanks you.

'Tis, sure. What say? In the speakeasy. Tight. I shee you, s.h.i.+r. Bantam, two days teetee. Bowsing nowt but claretwine. Garn! Have a glint, do.

Gum, I'm jiggered. And been to barber he have. Too full for words. With a railway bloke. How come you so? Opera he'd like? Rose of Castile. Rows of cast. Police! Some H2O for a gent fainted. Look at Bantam's flowers.

Gemini. He's going to holler. The colleen bawn. My colleen bawn. O, cheese it! Shut his blurry Dutch oven with a firm hand. Had the winner today till I tipped him a dead cert. The ruffin cly the nab of Stephen Hand as give me the jady coppaleen. He strike a telegramboy paddock wire big bug Ba.s.s to the depot. Shove him a joey and grahamise. Mare on form hot order. Guinea to a goosegog. Tell a cram, that. Gospeltrue. Criminal diversion? I think that yes. Sure thing. Land him in chokeechokee if the harman beck copped the game. Madden back Madden's a maddening back. O l.u.s.t our refuge and our strength. Decamping. Must you go? Off to mammy.

Stand by. Hide my blushes someone. All in if he spots me. Come ahome, our Bantam. Horryvar, mong vioo. Dinna forget the cowslips for hersel.

Cornfide. Wha gev ye thon colt? Pal to pal. Jannock. Of John Thomas, her spouse. No fake, old man Leo. S'elp me, honest injun. s.h.i.+ver my timbers if I had. There's a great big holy friar. Vyfor you no me tell? Vel, I ses, if that aint a sheeny nachez, vel, I vil get misha mis.h.i.+nnah.

Through yerd our lord, Amen.

You move a motion? Steve boy, you're going it some. More bluggy drunkables? Will immensely splendiferous stander permit one stooder of most extreme poverty and one largesize grandacious thirst to terminate one expensive inaugurated libation? Give's a breather. Landlord, landlord, have you good wine, staboo? Hoots, mon, a wee drap to pree.

Cut and come again. Right. Boniface! Absinthe the lot. _Nos omnes biberimus viridum toxic.u.m diabolus capiat posterioria nostria_.

Closingtime, gents. Eh? Rome boose for the Bloom toff. I hear you say onions? Bloo? Cadges ads. Photo's papli, by all that's gorgeous. Play low, pardner. Slide. _Bonsoir la compagnie_. And snares of the poxfiend.

Where's the buck and Namby Amby? Skunked? Leg bail. Aweel, ye maun e'en gang yer gates. Checkmate. King to tower. Kind Kristyann wil yu help yung man hoose frend tuk bungellow kee tu find plais whear tu lay crown of his hed 2 night. Crickey, I'm about sprung. Tarnally dog gone my s.h.i.+ns if this beent the bestest puttiest longbreak yet. Item, curate, couple of cookies for this child. Cot's plood and prandypalls, none! Not a pite of sheeses? Thrust syphilis down to h.e.l.l and with him those other licensed spirits. Time, gents! Who wander through the world. Health all!

_a la votre_!

Golly, whatten tunket's yon guy in the mackintosh? Dusty Rhodes. Peep at his wearables. By mighty! What's he got? Jubilee mutton. Bovril, by James. Wants it real bad. D'ye ken bare socks? Seedy cuss in the Richmond? Rawthere! Thought he had a deposit of lead in his p.e.n.i.s.

Trumpery insanity. Bartle the Bread we calls him. That, sir, was once a prosperous cit. Man all tattered and torn that married a maiden all forlorn. Slung her hook, she did. Here see lost love. Walking Mackintosh of lonely canyon. Tuck and turn in. Schedule time. Nix for the hornies.

Pardon? Seen him today at a runefal? Chum o' yourn pa.s.sed in his checks?

Ludama.s.sy! Pore piccaninnies! Thou'll no be telling me thot, Pold veg!

Did ums blubble bigsplash crytears cos fren Padney was took off in black bag? Of all de darkies Ma.s.sa Pat was verra best. I never see the like since I was born. _Tiens, tiens_, but it is well sad, that, my faith, yes. O, get, rev on a gradient one in nine. Live axle drives are souped.