An' in proportions as Riley is a son of Anak, physical, he's dwarfed mental; he ain't half as well upholstered with brains as a shepherd dog.
That's right; Riley's intellects, is like a fly in a saucer of syrup, they struggles 'round plumb slow.

I decides to uplift Riley to the public eye as the felon who's disturbin' that seminary's sereenity.
Comin' to this decision, I p'ints at him where he's planted four seats ahead, all tangled up in a spellin' book, an' says in a loud whisper to a child who's sittin' next: "'Throw him out!' "'That's enough.

No gent will ever realise how easy it is to direct a people's sentiment ontil he take a whirl at the game.

In two minutes by the teacher's bull's-eye copper watch, every soul knows it's pore Riley; an' in three, the teacher's done drug Riley out doors by the ha'r of his head an' chased him home.

Gents, I look back on that yoothful feat as a triumph of diplomacy; it shore saves my standin' as the Beau Brummel of the Bloo Grass.
"'Good old days, them!' observes the Colonel mournfully, 'an' ones never to come ag'in! My sternest studies is romances, an' the peroosals of old tales as I tells you-all prior fills me full of moss an' mockin' birds in equal parts.