Nacherally my
grandfather's gaze gets riveted on this lady a whole lot, his pipe
hangin' forgetful from his lips. The lady's eyes all at once comes
down on my grandfather, partic'lar an' personal, like a milk-crock
from a high shelf.
"'"An' I means you speshul," says the lady, p'intin' the finger of
scorn at my grandfather. "The idee of you standin' thar smokin' in
my very face, an' me a totterin' invalid. It shorely shows you ain't
nothin' but a brute. If I was your wife I'd give you p'isen."
"'"Which if you was my wife, I'd shore take it," says my
grandfather; for them epithets spurs him on the raw, an' he forgets
he's a gent, that a-way, an' lets fly this yere retort before he can
give himse'f the curb.
"'The moment my grandfather makes them observations, the lady
catches her face--which as I tells you is a cross between a gridiron
an' a steel trap--with both her hands, shakes her ha'r down her
back, an' cuts loose a scream which, like a b'ar in a hawg-pen,
carries all before it. Then she falls into the captain's arms an'
orders him to pack her out on deck where she can faint.
"'"Whatever be you-all insultin' this yere lady for?" says a
passenger, turnin' on my grandfather like a crate of wildcats.
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