I must admit I'm finding it monstrously amusing, the way it's made him so cow-handed.

I have only begun to glimpse the magnitude of the problem.

We all had hangovers after a boozy weekend in town.

Then there came a reg'lar terror of a sou'wester same as you don't get one summer in a thousand, and blowed the shanty flat and ripped about half of the weir poles out of the sand. We spent consider'ble money getting 'em reset, and then a swordfish got into the pound and tore the nets all to slathers, right in the middle of the squiteague season.