"Well, doctor," said the professor, "I'se not posted up on de goanna question, no how; but, when you comes to de Cuber, or de best mode ob applyin' de principle ob liquid blackin' to de rale fuss-rate calfskin, I'se dar!"
"O! oh!" grunts Gumbo; "professor, you'se great on de natural principles ob de chemical skyence, I see; but lord honey, I doos pity your ignorance on jography questions. So, take care ob yourself, ole nigger—yaw! yaw!" and they parted with the formality of two Websters, and half a dozen common-sized dignitaries of the nation thrown in.
How it's Done at the Astor House.
People often wonder how a man can manage to drink up his salary in liquor, provided it is sufficient to buy a gallon of the very best ardent every day in the year. How a fortune can be drank up, or drank down, by the possessor, is still a greater poser to the unsophisticated. Now, to be sure, a man who confines himself, in his potations, to fourpenny drinks of small beer, Columbian whiskey, or even that detestable stuff, by courtesy or custom called French brandy,—which, in fact, is generally aquafortis, corrosive sublimate, cochineal, logwood, and whiskey,—and don't happen to know too many drouthy cronies, may make a very long lane of it; but it's the easiest thing in the world to swallow a snug salary, income, mortgages, live stock, and real estate, when you know how it's done.
Managing a theatre, publishing a newspaper, or keeping trained dogs or trotting horses, don't hardly begin to phlebotomize purse and reputation, like drinking.
"Doctor," said a gay Southern blood, to a famed "tooth doctor," "look into my mouth."
"I can't see any thing there, sir," says the tooth puller.
"Can't? Well, that's deuced strange. Why, sir, look again; you see nothing!"
"Nothing, sir!"