Sinclair Lewis

“ Apparently their nearest approach to the Pacific Ocean would be this oceanically moist edge of a cornfield, between Schoenstrom and Gopher Prairie, Minnesota.
⁠Claire roused from her damp doze and sighed, "Well, I must get busy and get the car out of this."
⁠"Don't you think you'd better get somebody to help us?"
⁠"But get who?"
⁠"Whom!"
⁠"No! It's just 'who,' when you're in the mud. No. One of the good things about an adventure like this is that I must do things for myself. I've always had people to do things for me. Maids and nice teachers and you, old darling! ”

“ I'll get a farmer to pull us out."
⁠As she let herself down into the ooze, she reflected that all farmers have hearts of gold, anatomical phenomena never found among the snobs and hirelings of New York. ”

“ Today I ain'd feelin' very goot," grumbled the golden-hearted.
⁠Claire was aware that a woman whom she had not noticed-so much smaller than the dumplings, so much less vigorous than the salt pork was she-was speaking: "Aber, papa, dot's a shame you sharge de poor young lady dot, when she drive by sei self. Vot she t'ink of de Sherman people?"
⁠The farmer merely grunted. To Claire, "Yuh four dollars. Dot's what I usually charge sometimes." ”

“ Everybody pay dot. Last mont' I make forty-five dollars. They vos all glad to pay. They say I help them fine. I don't see vot you're kicking about! Oh, these vimmins!"
⁠"It's blackmail! I wouldn't pay it, if it weren't for my father sitting waiting out there. But-go ahead. Hurry!"
⁠She sat tapping her toe while Zolzac completed the stertorous task of hogging the dumplings, then stretched, yawned, scratched, and covered his merely dirty garments with overalls that were apparently woven of processed mud. When he had gone to the barn for his team, his wife came to Claire. ”