For the more a dissipation costs in life and health, the more fascinating it is.
There was an egg-supper, as I said, at Mandluff's store.

There was to be a "camp-meeting" in honor of Norman Anderson's successful return to his liberty and his cronies.

It gave Norman, the greatest pleasure to return to a society where it was rather to his credit than otherwise that he had gone on a big old time, got caught, and been sent adrift by the old hunk that had tried to make him study Latin.
The eggs were baked in the true "camp-meeting" style, the whisky was drunk, and--so was the company.

Bill Day's rather red eyes grew redder, and his nose shone with delight as he shuffled the greasy pack of "kyerds." The maudlin smile crossed the habitually melancholy lines of his face in a way that split and splintered his visage into a curious contradiction of emotions.
"H--a--oo--p!" He shouted, throwing away the cards over the heads of his companions.

"Ha--oop! boys, thish is big--hoo! hoo! ha--oop! I say is big.