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A ch-ch-chance to be one of the s-s-seven m-m-most imp-p-portant women in Rome, one of the s-s-six who are on a level with the Empress, and you m-m-missed it! Fancy it; to b-b-be mistress of an income so large that it m-m-makes you d-d-dizzy to think of it, and you throw away the ch-ch-chance! To be able the m-m-moment you were taken, to m-m-make your own w-w-will!
This so infuriated the stuttering man that he was absolutely unable to say anything for a few moments, while the boys, with much merriment, waited expectantly for the forthcoming answer. "S-s-s-shut up, w-w-will you?" exploded the unfortunate stutterer at last.
I know but one will, and it is the w-w-will of Doctor P-p-paracelsus Aesculapius. I'm my own lord and law, I am." "Know thou that for all thy idle words, God will bring thee to judgment?" David answered solemnly. "Rot!" muttered the doctor, disgusted beyond endurance, and concluding the interview with the cynical farewell, "Good-bye, d-d-dead man! I have always hated c-c-corpses!
"Hi! hi! you clodhopper there, stop that infernal barge," shouted Bruce at the top of his voice, knowing that if the barge once passed the winning posts, the race would be utterly spoilt. "St-t-t-topp there, you cl-l-lown, w-w-will you," stuttered Fitzurse more incoherent than usual, with indignation.
Jerry flushed uncomfortably at that and felt that Celia Jane was taking an unfair advantage of him, so he did not answer. "W-w-will you, J-J-Jerry?" Celia Jane besought him. "No," said Jerry at length. "Why w-w-won't you?" Jerry felt himself flushing still more hotly from head to foot, partly at the smile he saw his father and mother exchange and partly at Celia Jane's importunity.
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