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"Holy Gee, Cap," he explained penitently, "ye don't go ter think I ever did it a purpose, do ye? Why, ther gosh-durned old thing run away." "Ran away?" "Sure; I've bin a hangin' on ter ther mane o' thet critter fer nigh 'pon three mile, an' a prayin' fer a feather bed ter light on. It's my last 'listment en ther cavalry, ye bet.
He stood beside us in the crowd in the vestibule looking down at us, laughing, and talking, absolutely at his ease. As usual he was putting me in wrong before some one I knew. 'Why, he says, 'even that silly blue-nosed old bounder of a captain of yours has given me a good character. Come on, Charley, be a sport. 'Pon my soul, Charley, I never knew you were much of a man with the girls.
So I've brot her, an' what blame comes o't my shoulders is more'n broad enough to carry. I wish, for my paart, as Michael was home, so's I might faace en when Joan says what her've comed to say. I be gwaine to Penzance now, 'pon a matter o' business, an' I'll come back here in an hour or so an' drink a dish o' tea along with you 'fore we staarts."
"'Tis straange us met that poor, croony antic at sich a moment," mused Uncle Thomas; "the words of en jag sore 'pon a body's mind, comin' arter what's in our thots like." "Maybe 'tis paart o' the queerness o' things as us should fall 'pon en now," answered Joan. Then, through a stormy gloaming, they returned in sadness to the high lands of Drift.
Like Noah in his Ark, 'pon my soul. When he began to lather he kept up a running fire of remarks, mostly insulting. 'And what are you here, old man? Admiral? Lord High Muck-a-Muck? They put you up a jolly sight better than they did me in the second cabin of that infernal liner I came over in. Heavens! Old Uncle Christopher wanted me to go to New Zealand.
"No; I am powerless, for they are stronger than I. But we might peek in through the window and see what they are doing." Trot was somewhat curious, too, so they crept up to one of the windows and looked in, and it so happened that those inside the witch's house were so busy they did not notice that Pon and Trot were watching them.
The Princess lay prone upon a couch, sobbing bitterly. Trot went up to her and smoothed her hair and tried to comfort her. "Don't cry," she said. "I've unlocked the door, so you can go away any time you want to." "It isn't that," sobbed the Princess. "I am unhappy because they will not let me love Pon, the gardener's boy!"
"That will do," said his grace. "Yes, 'pon my soul, it's quite extraordinary," he took a cigar case from his pocket, proffered a cigar which Jones took, and then lit one himself. "Look here," said Jones suddenly alarmed by a new idea, "you aren't guying me, are you? you haven't taken it into your heads that I've gone dotty mad?" "Mad!" cried the old gentleman with a start.
"No," said Gloria frigidly, "I do not love Pon, or anyone else, for the Wicked Witch has frozen my heart." "What a shame!" cried the Scarecrow. "One so lovely should be able to love. But would you mind, my dear, stuffing that straw into my body again?" The dainty Princess glanced at the straw and at the well-worn blue Munchkin clothes and shrank back in disdain.
'Pon my soul, I should say most of those I know would be more likely to die of thirst. Rather!" Later on he asked another question. "And how is the pretty niece, Knowles?" he inquired. "When is she coming back to the monastery or the nunnery or rectory, or whatever it is?" "I don't know," I replied, curtly. "Oh, I say! Isn't she coming at all? That would be a calamity, now wouldn't it?
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