"Git up—oh du," sez Miss Josephine, catching a sly peek at the 'pothecary, through her fingers.
"And mine," sez the 'pothecary, a getting up and a spreading his hand out on his yaller vest.
He would turn all the contents of the 'pothecary's shop into my fallows, and call it 'progress.'
The 'pothecary begun to tremble all over, he was so tarnal mad to see her setting there as cool as a cucumber.
The 'pothecary raly felt as if he should bust, and he gin her a purty decent blowing up as they went along Chatham-street.
