I made faces.
“What time is it by thet thar clock, Silas?” inquired the old lady in the Grand Central depot.
“That ain’t a clock, mother; that’s a weighing machine.”
“Land sakes! What do they have that fur in a depot?”
“So’s the folks kin git away, I s’pose,” said Silas solemnly.
How did that sausage that you ate agree with you?
It hurt my liver wurst.