“Sartain. You tole me dat afore.”
“Me much old.”
“I s’spected dat ar, too.”
“Me seen t’ousand moons.”
“Thunder!” exclaimed Congo. “Dat must hab made it berry light!”
“Now great chief going to happy hunting grounds.”
“Is you, dough? Golly! Ef you’d lend me a rifle, I’d go along.”
“Listen! My son wants meat?”
“Yessy—very muchy.”