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"Well, what did he think of him?" asked Martha. "Oh, he called him everything. Mrs. Howarth heard it through her front blinds. It was terrible, she says. It's all over town now. Everybody knows it." "Didn't the doctor answer back?" "No! Mrs. Howarth she says he never said a word. He just walked down to his buggy and got in, and drove off as co-o-o-l. But Jake gave him jinks, by all accounts."
"But what did he say?" cried Kate, shrill and excited. She was evidently at some kind of a feast. "And what?" said Martha. "Did he swear at him?" said Kate, in fearsome glee. "No not much. He did swear at him a little, but not more than a man does anyhow when he is real mad, Mrs. Howarth says." "O-oh!" breathed Kate. "And did he call him any names?"
Sir Henry Howarth, the author of the "History of the Mongols," a learned and laborious work, was out dining one evening. It fell to his lot at his host's house to escort a lady to the dinner table; and she, having a confused idea of the great man's theme, surprised him somewhat by the abrupt question, "I understand, Sir Henry, that you are fond of dogs. Are you not? I am too." "Dogs, madam?
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