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"F'what might this be?" he would ask, fingering contemptuously first one thing and then another. "An' f'what do ye do wid it, at all?" he inquired, as article after article was reviewed, affecting the airs of wonderment supposed to belong to a child of nature. Presently his humour changed, and he passed into the declamatory stage.
Did it not convey an instant recollection of all the worst emasculating tendencies from which we had come out? Why, it was almost as bad as that acme of horrors, a chimney-pot hat! "Smash it! Burn it!" he shouted. "Mother av Moses! f'what nixt?"
Prout's deep voice was added to the discussion. They could hear him pant. "F'what?" Colonel Dabney was growing more and more Irish. "I'm responsible for the boys under my charge." "Ye are, are ye? Then all I can say is that ye set them a very bad example a dam' bad example, if I may say so. I do not own your boys.
"Well done, Saint!" was the general exclamation; "that's a good excuse to get yourself off a job of humping over the rocks." The Saint flushed up, and proceeded argumentatively, "Look here! Wouldn't it be better to burn dead shells?" "F'what did shells is it, me dear?" asked O'Gaygun, in a wheedling tone. "Well, there's plenty on Marahemo, for instance."
He had on a common, unbecoming, hard felt hat, and when he raised it to admit the pleasant breeze Yan saw that the wearer had hair like his own a coarse, paleolithic mane, piled on his rugged brow, like a mass of seaweed lodged on some storm-beaten rock. "F'what are ye fynding, my lad?" said he in tones whose gentleness was in no way obscured by a strong Scottish tang.
"'Tis a sinful exthravagance! a temptin' av Providence!" he exclaimed. "Plates! an' faaks! an' dishes! an' sacers! did ivver anny wan see the loike? F'what do ye expict nixt? Kid gloves to work in, maybe! That ivver I'd see the day whan sich degrading emblems av the ould superstitions of sassiety was brought into the bush! Ough!" So much and more the O'Gaygun.
You might take out that bucket of ashes for me. You'll find the heap where they go down in the little yard behind the stable. There now! That's what comes o' talkin'! If I didden forget to ask a blessin', an' you an orphan, too, I believe! F'what we've received. Lor', make us truly thangful cry-say-carmen Off you go!
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