human
Now, you see, gentlemen, what honest men have to endyore when they come to your blame town. Whoever he is, an' wharsoever he may be, that chap ain't up to no good. Then he looked under the waggon and between the bales of cotton, and, finally, took the cover and shook it out, as if it might be possible for one of the
gpt
Ef you gents will excuse me, I'll mosey along, an' the next time I have a crap of cotton to sell, I'll waggin it to some place or other wher' w'arhouses ain't depots, an' wher' jugglers don't jump on you an' make the'r disappearance in broad daylight. This is my fust trip to this great town, an' it'll be my last ef I know myself, an' I ruther reckon I do.