Wish you were comin' back with us, but you've struck your gait, I guess, and you're goin' to make quite a dust.

Keep your wind till the last quarter; that's where the money's lost.

I ain't 'fraid of you; you're green, but they can't break you.

Keep your left eye on the suckers.

There ain't no danger from the feller that rips and rares and gits up on his hind legs, but the feller that sidles raound and sorter chums it up to you and wants to pay fer your drinks, by Jings, kick him.