"Yates, can't ye doctor that a little?"
"Whose name was Benedict," suggested Yates.
"Whose name was Benedict," continued Jim. "Now read it over, as fur as ye've got."
"'I solemnly swear that I have seen no pauper in the woods whose name was Benedict.'"
"Now look a here, Sam Yates! That sort o' thing won't do. Stop them tricks. Ye don't know me, an' ye don't know whar ye're settin' if you think that'll go down."
"Why, what's the matter?"
"I telled ye that Benedict was no pauper, an' ye say that ye've seen no pauper whose name was Benedict. That's jest tellin' that he's here. Oh, ye can't come that game! Now begin agin, an' write jest as I give it to ye. 'I solem-ny sw'ar, s'welp me! that I hain't seen no pauper, in no woods, whose name was Benedict.'"
"Done," said Yates, "but it isn't grammar."
"Hang the grammar!" responded Jim; "what I want is sense. Now jine this on: 'An' I solem-ny sw'ar, s'welp me! that I won't blow on Benedict, as isn't a pauper—no more nor Jim Fenton is—an' if so be as I do blow on Benedict—I give Jim Fenton free liberty, out and out—to lick me—without goin' to lor—but takin' the privlidge of self-defense.'"
Jim thought a moment. He had wrought out a large phrase.