'Swallered it mebbe.' 'Mean t' say ye lost hook, line, sinker 'n pole ?' 'Hook, line, sinker 'n pole,' he answered mournfully.

'Come nigh haulin' me in tew.' ''Tain't possible,' said Uncle Eb.
Mose expectorated, his hands upon his hips, looking down at the water.
'Wouldn't eggzac'ly say 'twas possible,' he drawled, 'but 'twas a fact.' 'Yer mistaken,' said Uncle Eb.
'No I hain't,' was the answer, 'I tell ye I see it.' 'Then if ye see it the nex' thing ye orter see 's a doctor.

There's sumthin' wrong with you sumwheres.' 'Only one thing the matter o' me,' said Mose with a little twinge of remorse.

'I'm jest a natural born perfec' dum fool.

Never c'u'd b'lieve there was any sech fish.' 'Nobody ever said there was any sech fish,' said Uncle Eb.