Well, pretty soon de bundle dat wuz waitin' on me cum back wid er little tray wid erbout five dishes on it, an' each dish had sumthin' on it—but not much.
“W'ere's de knife?” sez I.
“Wot d'yer want er knife fer?” she sez. “Dere ain't nuttin' ter cut.”
Dat wuz er good wun on me, so I tipped her er wink, grabbed er spoon, an' cut loose.
Good nite!
De first jump out uv de box I got er mout'ful uv stuff dat wuz like oats. I chewed it until I wuz near dead fer er drink, den I give me t'roat er twist—just like de strangle hold—an' got it down.
“Say,” sez I, ter an old bloke wot sat next ter me, “how long does er mug live after he gets er bale uv dis in his sistem, or does he live ter git ez much ez dat down him?”
He handed me er tuff look—it couldn't hev been worse if I wuz wun uv dem strong-arm guys wot wuz after his super—yer know, his watch.
“Ain't yer got no mouth on yer?” sez I. “Or do yer only use it fer eatin' hay?”
“Sir,” sez he. “Wuz yer addressin' me?”