Mr. Pawkins had only got Timotheus'
flannel shirt on, when the stable door opened. "Shin up that ladder into
the loft, Mr. Pawkins," cried the benevolent Pilgrim, and the spectacle
of a pair of disappearing shanks greeted the visitors on their entrance.
Timotheus had escaped into the coach-house, but all the clothes, wet and
dry, save the shirt, lay over the sides of an empty stall. Immediately
the colonel perceived the vanishing heels of the Yankee, he interposed
his person between them and Mrs. Du Plessis. "My deah Tehesa," he said,
hastily, "I think we had bettah retiah foh the pehsent, and visit the
stables lateh in the day." Mrs. Du Plessis, however, once no mean judge
of horseflesh, was scanning the good points of her brother-in-law's
purchase, and seemed indisposed to withdraw. Soon a head and a pair of
flannel shirted arms appeared, hanging over the loft trap, and a voice
hailed the colonel.
"Say, mister, you ain't a goin' to bring no wimmen folks up this here
ladder, be you?"
"Cehtainly not, suh!" answered the colonel, with emphasis.
"If it won't hurt you, I wisht you'd sling up them dry paants and things
daown there.
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