human
It ain't much, said Buck, dropping Thackeray to the floor.
gpt
I read the whole thing once.--No, I guess I'm thinkin' of _The County Fair_, a drammer that I saw at the Bee-jou. But I guess they're all the same, those Fairs.
human
Say Doc, he went on presently,
gpt
I'm going to double you on Number Seven, beginning from to-morrow, hear?
human
That's right, said his trainer, inexorably.
gpt
It's just what you need. I had a long talk with Smithy, last night.
human
Buck, said the Doctor, clearing his throat,
gpt
Johnson? Who? Fat, sandy-haired man lives on Third Street?
human
No, Dr. Samuel Johnson, the well-known English author and--character. It is related that on one occasion Dr. Johnson approached the fishwives at Billingsgate to purchase of their wares. The exact details of the story are not altogether clear in my memory, but, as I recall it, something the good Doctor said angered these women, for they began showering him with profane and blasphemous names. At this style of language the fishwives are said to be extremely proficient. What do you fancy that Dr. Johnson called them in return? But you could hardly guess. He called them parallelopipedons. I am not entirely certain whether it was parallelopipedons or isosceles triangles. Possibly there are two versions of the story.
gpt
I should perhaps say, added Queed,
human
Oh, said Klinker.
gpt
Oh.
human
Ah, well!... Go on with what you were telling me as we walked up, then!
gpt
Sure thing. But I don't catch the conversation. What was all that con you were giving me--?
human
Con?
gpt
About Johnson and the triangles.
human
It simply occurred to me to tell you a funny story, of the sort that men are known to like, with the hope of amusing you--
gpt
Why, that wasn't a funny story, Doc.
human
I assure you that it was.
gpt
Don't see it,
human
That is not my responsibility, in any sense.
gpt
Blest if I pipe,
human
I cannot both tell the stories and furnish the brains to appreciate them. Kindly proceed with what you were telling me.
gpt
The Centre Street mashers : those pimply, weak-faced, bad-eyed young men who congregate at prominent corners every afternoon, especially Saturdays, to smirk at the working-girls, and to pass, wherever they could, from their murmured,
human
Hello, Kiddo, and
gpt
Where you goin', baby?