Yes, there was one more, namely Mr.
Pawkins, who was afeard his duds warn't dry. The nettrelized citizen of
Kennidy was telling stories, that kept the company in peals and roars of
laughter, about an applicant for a place in a paper mill, who was set to
chewing a blue blanket into pulp, who was given a bottle of vinegar to
sharpen his teeth with, and who was ignominiously expelled from the
premises because he didn't "chaw it dry"; about a bunting billy goat;
and a powerful team of oxen, that got beyond the control of their
barn-moving driver, and planted the barn on the top of an almost
inaccessible hill. Mr. Pawkins complimented the young women, and drew
wonderful depths of knowledge out of Sylvanus and Timotheus. But, when a
vehicle rolled into the stable yard that brought the constable and
Maguffin to join the party, the quondam American citizen waxed jubilant,
and beheld endless possibilities of amusement. "Good evenin',
consterble," said Mr. Pawkins, blandly.
"Good evening, sir, at your service," replied the pensioner.
"Pawkins is my naum, consterble, kyind er Scotch, I reckin.
Pages:
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571