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Tarbox pronounced. "No fractious minorities here, to block the wheels of legislation!" The crowd burst into a roar at this significant remark, and, again abashed, dropped portcullis on its laughter, cutting off the flanks and tail of the sound. "Mr. Purtett, will you please conduct the Chairman to the Chair," says Bill, very stately.
The butter-knife was genuine, shining, solid silver, with her initials, M.B.P., Martha Bilsby Purtett, given in luxuriant flourishes; but then the kiss had such a fine twang, such an exhilarating titillation! The late Perry's kisses, from first to last, had wanted point. They were, as the Spanish proverb would put it, unsavory as unsalted eggs, for want of a moustache.
Wade went down to breakfast with an heroic appetite. His "Merry Christmas" to Mrs. Purtett was followed up by a ravished kiss and the gift of a silver butter-knife. The good widow did not know which to be most charmed with.
Wade standing there like a" Bill hesitated for a comparison. "Like a thousand of brick," Perry Purtett suggested, sotto voce. The Chairman took this as a hint to himself. "Like a thousand of brick," he said, with the voice of a Stentor. Here the audience roared and cheered, and the Orator got a fresh start. "When you came, Mr.
He was not pallid, meagre, and clad in unwholesome black, like the same. His bronzed face was frank and bold and unfamiliar with speculations on Original Sin or Total Depravity. "I am not the new minister," said Wade, smiling slightly over his moustache; "but a new Superintendent for the Foundry." "Mr. Whiffler is goin'?" exclaimed Mrs. Purtett.
It was transported back on the shoulders of the crowd in triumphal procession. Perry Purtett carried round the hat for a contribution to new paint it, new rib it, new gunwale it, give it new sculls and a new boat-hook, indeed, to make a new vessel of the brave little bowl.
"Here are roses on the porch, a piano, or at least a melodeon, by the parlor-window, and they are insured in the Mutual, as the Mutual's plate announces. Now, if that nice-looking person in black I see setting a table in the back-room is a widow, I will camp here." Perry Purtett was the name on the door, and opposite the sign of an omnium-gatherum country-store hinted that Perry was deceased.
And, for a quarter of an hour, he dodged the merry crowd, until at last, breathless, he let himself be touched by pretty Belle Purtett, rosiest of all the Dunderbunk bevy of rosy maidens on the ice. "He rayther beats Bosting," says Captain Isaac Ambuster to Smith Wheelwright. "It's so cold there that they can skate all the year round; but he beats them, all the same."
"Mild, timid, accustomed to depend on the late Perry, and wants a friend," Wade analyzed, while he bowed. He proposed himself as a lodger. "I didn't know it was talked of generally," replied the widow, plaintively; "but I have said that we felt lonesome, Mr. Purtett bein' gone, and if the new minister" Here she paused. The cut of Wade's jib was unclerical. He did not stoop, like a new minister.
We might put that new walking-beam, we've just rough-finished for the 'Union, aboard of him." "Yes, if he is sure to go to-morrow. It will not do to delay. The owners complained to me yesterday that the 'Union' was in a bad way for want of its new machinery. Tell your brother-in-law to come here, Bill." Tarbox looked sheepishly pleased, and summoned Perry Purtett.
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