Oh, my! I just can't naturally stand _dirt_! There, you didn't get that stain off.
That's tobacco juice, I guess.

Go back and wash that over again." Vandover obeyed, holding the brush in one hand, crawling back along the floor upon one palm and his two knees, a pool of soapy, dirty water very cold gathered about him, soaking in through the old "blue pants" and wetting him to the skin, but he slovened through it indifferently.

"Put a little more elbow grease to it," continued the burnisher's wife.

"You have to rub them spots pretty hard to get 'em out.

Now scrub all along here near the floor.