'Lordy, neighbour, 'tain't much to write home 'bout, jist a lotta hard work. Now y' take Munich, Munich ain't no town for business. Folks want their peace 'n' a mugga beer. And 'y certainly wouldn't read no telegram while you're eatin', sure as hell wouldn't. You got another kinda gittup 'n' go up this way, damn if y' don't. Thanks heaps, I'll have 'nother glass. Pain in th'ol! My partner, Noppe, 's always wantin' to move to Nurmeberg, 'cause they got a stock exchange up there 'n' some business smarts. But I ain't gonna leave good ol' Munich. Damned if I am. Pain in ol! Y' see, we got comp'titon galore, galore.' ...
' "Yup, 'nuff t' floor y!" Herr Permaneder replied and stopped rubbing his knees.
"How nice," Madame Buddenbrook said, leaning back and putting her hands in her lap in feigned satisfaction - she had not understood one word. '
(I know exactly how she feels. And what on earth does 'pain in th'ol' mean?)