I ain't asked for no wages yit, and don't expect to, till the craps is sold." "I can't wait for that!" exclaimed Phoebe; "I's got to have money to carry on the house." "Whar's the money the preacher pays you ?" asked her husband.
"Dat's a comin'," said Phoebe, "dat's a comin' all right.

Thar's to be a special c'lection next Sunday mornin', and the money's goin' to pay the minister's board.

I'm to git every cent what's owin' to me, and I reckon it'll take it all." "He ain't paid you nuthin' yit, thin ?" "Not yit; there was another special c'lection had to be tuk up fust, but the next one's for me.

Can't you go ask your boss for five dollars ?" "Oh, yes," said Mike, "he'll give it to me if I ask him.

Look here, Phoebe, we might's well git all the good we kin out of five dollars, and I reckon I'll come to chu'ch next Sunday, and put the five dollars in the c'lection.