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Updated: June 11, 2025
If the young lady was familiar with all the buoyant audacity of your irrepressible nature, perhaps it would be different. No, young man, I fear I must ask you to do your own explaining." "Me?" says I, gawpin'. "We will call on Miss Hampton about four-thirty," says he. And say, Mr.
She's costumed mainly in a shaggy tam-o'-shanter that comes down over her ears, and an old plaid cape that must have been some vivid in its color scheme when it was new. "Eh, Sister?" says I, gawpin' at her. "Is it true about the work papers, Sir?" says she. "The which?" says I, not gettin' her for a second. "Oh! Work papers? Sure!
I expects I starts a grin; but one glimpse of Mr. Robert's face and it fades out. He wa'n't happy a bit. For a minute he stands there lookin' sort of dazed, as if he'd been hit with a lead pipe, and with his neck and ears tinted up like a raspb'rry sundae. "Very well," says he, and does a slow exit, leavin' me gawpin' after him sympathetic. Not for long, though.
I suspicioned that his bein' an architect was more or less of a fad; but he was makin' the most of it, there was no discountin' that. He'd laid out a week to put in seein' how New York was built, high spots and low, and he went at it like he was workin' by the piece. Now, say, there ain't no special harm in goin' around town gawpin' at lib'ries and office buildin's and churches.
"Stop your yellin'!" he ordered. "What ails you fellers? Think you can prove it better by screechin'? They can hear you half a mile. There's Cornelius Rowe standin' gawpin' on the other side of the street this minute. He thinks there's a fire or a riot, one or t'other. Let's change the subject.
"Stop," says T. Waldo, holdin' up his hand like I was the cross-town traffic. "You must not go on with this silly business chatter. I am not in the least interested. Besides, you are interrupting my tutoring period." "Your which?" says I, gawpin'. "Mr. Tidman," he goes on, "is my private tutor. He helps me to study from ten to two every day."
At least, I claim that I was being controlled, or whatever you want to call it, by the recently departed spirit of Sandy the Great." I expect I was gawpin' at him with a full open-face expression. Say, I thought I'd heard these golf nuts ravin' before, but I'd never been up against anything quite like this. Honest, it gave me a creepy feelin' along the spine.
"The only thing to do now," says she, "is to save the feathers." "Eh?" says I, gawpin'. "The long tail and wing feathers can be used for making fans and trimming hats," says Auntie, "while the smaller ones are excellent for stuffing pillows. They must be picked at once." "Oh, I'm satisfied to call 'em a total loss," says I. Auntie wouldn't have it, though.
Even a simple trance sitting doesn't satisfy. They must hear bells rung, see ghostly hands waved, and some of them demand a materialized control. But they are so few! And my faithful Al Nekkir has left me." "Eh?" says I, gawpin'.
"Eh?" says I, gawpin', as he tosses the green bag and yellow lid onto a chair, dives into his side pocket, and proceeds to pin something on my coat lapel. "Plenty of 'em," says he. "Here, take some for your friends. How's that for a slogan, anyway? 'Go to Gopher! Good advice too. Gopher's the garden spot of the universe." "Gopher what where is it?" says I.
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