“Dis jelly mo’ like lemon squash,” Mr. Mouth commented.
“’Cos dat lil liard Ibum, he again forget de ice! Howebber, I hope soon to get rid ob him: for de insolence ob his bombax is more dan I can stand,” Mrs. Mouth declared, lifting her voice on account of a piano-organ in the street just outside.
“I s’poge to-day Chuesd’y? It was a-Chuesd’y—God forgib dat po’ frail chile.”
“Prancing Nigger, I allow Edna some young yet for dat position; I allow dat to be de matteh ob de case but, me good sah! Bery likely she marry him later.”
“Pah.”
“An’, why not?”
“Chooh, nebba!”
“Prancing Nigger, you seem to forget dat your elder daughter was a babe ob four, w’en I put on me nuptial arrange blastams to go to de Church.”
“Sh’o, I wonder you care to talk ob it!”