Don't mind it, but keep on driving if you want to retain your scalp, paleface.

We are mighty bad Injuns!" The driver knew how to pick out the darkest and most deserted streets.
By the time the outskirts of the city were reached the freshmen were bubbling over.
Frank Merriwell improvised a stanza of a song, and in a few moments the entire band caught the words and the tune.

As the hack rolled along toward East Rock the freshmen sang: "We belong to good old 'Umpty-eight, For she's a corker, sure as fate, sure as fate.
We have met the sophomores, And they're feeling awful sore; So hurrah for good old 'Umpty-eight! 'Umpty-eight!" "Begobs! ye're th' quarest gang av softmores Oi iver saw!" cried the driver.

"An' it's not wan av yez Oi remimber takin' up to th' freshman's boording house." "We have changed," explained Ned Stover.
"And it's the first change I have seen for a week," declared Harry Rattleton.

"I'm waiting to hear from the governor." "Howld on," said the driver.