"How can I come to grief?
If old Mascarin interferes, I'll shut up his mouth pretty sharp.

I wish you and your master wouldn't poke their noses into my affairs.

I'm sick of you both.

Don't you think I'm up to you?
When you make me follow some one for a week at a time, it isn't to do 'em a kindness, I reckon.

If things turn out badly, I've only to go before a beak and speak up; I should get off easily enough then; and if I do so, you will be sorry for not having given me more than my five francs a day." Beaumarchef was an old soldier and a bold man, but he was easily upset, for the lad's insolence made him believe that he was uttering words that had been put in his mouth by some wily adviser; and not knowing how to act, the ex-soldier thought it best to adopt a more conciliating demeanor.
"How much do you want ?" asked he.
"Well, seven francs to start with." "The deuce you do! Seven francs a day is a sum.