He reminds me of a Toronto professor of anatomy
who wouldn't allow the poor squeamish medicals to smoke in the
dissecting room, because, he said, one bad smell was better than two. If
I had my way with Bulky I'd smoke him blue in the face, if for nothing
but to drown his abominable assafoetida, the pig!"
"Aw, non, M'syae," interrupted Pierre, to protect the idol of the Maple
Inn; "Meestare Bulky ees not a peeg, but assafeetiter is vorse zan a
peeg-stye. N'est ce paw, Angelique?"
"I 'ave no vord to say of M'syae Bulky," replied Madame, taking up her
mending and entering the house. She was at once recalled to the verandah
by a juvenile voice that called "Mrs. Latchness!" The speaker soon
appeared in the person of a small boy, about twelve years old, who,
hatless, coatless, and shoeless, ran up from the river bank. "Vat you
vant vis me, Tommee?" asked Madame. "I come from Widder Toner's--Ben's
dyin', she says, and can't move a stir. She wants to know if they's
anybody here as knows anything about doctorin', and, she says, hurry
awful quick!" cried the breathless youngster.
"I 'ear you spick of medical, M'syae Coristine; do you know it? Can you
'elp ze pauvre vidow?" asked Madam.
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