P. McK.—Well, I’ll be gam doodled!—pardon; I mean I’ll be delighted. We call it gam doodled.
E. F.—Yaw, I shbeak der Amerigan longvidge very goot meinself all der vhile somdimes yet.
P. McK.—Beautifully.
E. F.—Der Soud Ofrigan Ropoobligs dey sooffer demselfs mooch. As your Segretary of Shtate he say, Gread Bridain she don’d do a teeng to us. Sheneral Yowbert——
P. McK.—Zhoobair.
E. F.—Yowbert he is die of belly ache again, und Sheneral Cronje gif oop som more, und Sheneral Botha he droonk like a fittler’s——
P. McK.—And larrups the soldiers with a slambangbok.
E. F.—Yaw, yaw, und Bresident Kruger he vas vun olt ladies, und der Preetish is aferyvheres, und Vebster Dafis don’d vas wort his monies, und——
P. McK.—“Oond,” in short, you fellows are licked out of your boots.
E. F.—Vas?