Now, me Angly-Saxon, he's the prettiest fightin' man on earth, an' he's fightin' fer land, er buyin' land, er stalin' land, the livin' day an' cintury on ind.

He'll own the earth!" "No foreign Anglo-Saxon will ever own America," said Franklin grimly.
"Well, I'm tellin' ye he'll be ownin' some o' this land around here." "I infer, Battersleigh," said Franklin, "that you have made a sale." "Well, yis.

A small matter." "A quarter-section or so ?" "A quarter-township or so wud be much nearer," said Battersleigh dryly.
"You don't mean it ?" "Shure I do.

It's a fool for luck; allowin' Batty's a fool, as ye've always thought, though I've denied it.

Now ye know the railroad's crazy for poppylation, an' it can't wait.