Thess.

Ef a person thess remembers thet the long han' is the short han'—why, 't ain't no trouble.

Me havin' that extry sized bell made thess out of respects to her tickled her mightily.

They burnt my lips thess now like a coal o' fire an'—an' lockjaw is goin' roun' tur'ble.

You see, Sonny he's purty ticklish to handle, an' a person has to know thess how to tackle him.

He ain't no ways partic'lar thess so a thing is po' an' miser'ble enough.