THE BATTALION.
15
maw. De debble lib ’pun dat sawt o’ sweetness, but I tell
you, wen de sin come back to ’um, sour and fayly rancid,
de debble sick, like laudlubbah wen ’e try fo’ tun sailab!
Miss Rosie -(laug-bing-)—I see. De salt water is the
best for de Baptist people.
Fritz—But, olt man, you haf neffer told us war de boy
Pluto haf g’one to!
Cyrus—Pluto say he g’one fo’ tell you, say, brekfuss
ready!
Mrs. Roseng-arten—We haf not him on de vay met.
Mr. Roseng-arten—Well, dis I say: If you all von haf
as hungry as I am, you will shust sit town and dese same
ting’s eat. We haf not de time to wait. De train leafs
bresently.
All—Yes, let us eat dese same g-oot ting’s wot olt man
Cyrus has brought.
Mr. Doerflinger—But, die blanee Himmel! You all
can dis way de morgen-meal not eat! Dere ees no sausage!
Dere ees no cheese! Mine hairts, wot for a breakfasd o’
no cheese!
Fritz—Das is true! Say, oldt coon, wot for a cheese
haf you in de bress? Schweitzer? Rotterdam? Mon-
nikendam? Edam?
Mr. Rosengarten—Limburger? Rockfort? Gruyere?
Mr. Doerflinger—Stilton? Gouda?
Mrs. Rosengarten—Sap Sago?
Miss Rosie—Or de plain American? It ees not goot,
dough, like dem udders.
Cyrus—I tought dey all come frum de uddahs, haw!
haw! But I got some. I don’ know wot you call dish a