What's that
you say, sir? Rooks don't swear? Don't tell me. Blasphemin'?
Why, in two minnits the air was stiff wi' blasphemy--you might ha'
cut et wi' a knife. An' oaths? Why, you cou'd _feel_ the oaths.
An' there he sot an' cussed, an' cussed an' sot, an' let the
hatefulness run out like watter from a pump.
"In cou'se, 'twarnt long afore the rest gather'd round to larn what
the mess was, an' then there was Chevychace. They handed round the
eye, an' looked at et this way an' that, an' 'splained what had
happen'd wan to t'other; an' then they hushed an' stood quiet while
their dasayved brother cussed hissel' out. Not a smile 'mongst the
lot, sir; not a wink, as I be a truthful man.
"At las' he'd a-done, an' not too soon for hes lungs; an' then the
lot sat down an' conseddered et out, an' still not a word for minnits
togither. But all to wanst up starts a youngish-lookin' rook, an'
makes a speech.
"'Twarn't a long speech, sir, an' nat'rally I didn't understand a
word: but I cotched his drift in a minnit, tho'. For they rooks
started up, walked back to their seats, an' what do 'ee think they
did?"
"I couldn't pretend to guess," said Mr. Fogo.
"They jes' started that sarvice agan, sir, an' paradised et from
start to finish. They mixed up ow jests wi' the prayers, an' flung
in fancy yarns wi' their experiences, an' made a mock at th'
exhortashun; an' what they sung in place o' the hemn, I don't know;
but I _do_ knaw this much--et warn't fit for a woman to list'n to.
Pages:
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139