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"Do I understand," he goes on, "that one of my cards went with those roses?" "Yep," says I prompt. "Little idea of mine. I I wanted to see what would happen." "Really!" says he sarcastic. "Well, I trust that my part of the performance was quite satisfactory to you." And with that he wheels and marches off. "Whiffo!" says I, drawin' in a long breath. "But he is grouched for fair, ain't he!"
They hammer its head off and get grouched because it ain't an angel of obedience. Put him away, Johnny. Wash him clean, and put on the regular dressing wherever the skin's broken. I give him up myself, but I'll find some place for him in the next bunch of dogs." Two weeks later, by sheerest accident, Harris Collins made the discovery for himself of what Michael was good for.
Now, somewhere, somehow, sometime during his checkered career, Pig Head had heard, or read, of a way of catching golden eagles. He proceeded. Upon an unholy and cold shaly slope well up among the clouds, the mist, and the ptarmigan, Pig Head had hollowed him out a hollow, roomy enough for himself to crouch in. He was the sort of man that crouched and "grouched."
He didn't have any spellbinders to tell him he was making the world safe for d'mocracy. He was MADE to come. "How would any of us humans have acted, if a deal like that had been handed to us? We'd 'a' grouched and slacked and maybe deserted. That's because we're lords of creation and have souls and brains and such. What did Bruce do? He jumped into this game, with bells on.
"I'm only going to be with you for a few days," I answered. "Mr. Jefferson will be your permanent manager." "The hell I will!" spluttered Bunch. Then he got red in the face, glared at Dodo, and grouched out a "beg pardon!" "You betcher sweet!" she replied, patting the Pommery.
Just the same, if' you can spare a few minutes from each other after a couple more whirls, Mary an' me'd be complimented to have your presence at dinner." "Just like that," chimed Mary. "Quit your kiddin'," Billy laughed back, turning his head to look into Saxon's eyes. "Don't listen to 'em. They're grouched because they got to dance together. Bert's a rotten dancer, and Mary ain't so much.
Saxon sewed and listened, and Bert's face grew bleak and bitter as he contemplated the baby clothes in her lap. "There you go," he blurted out, "bringin' kids into the world when you ain't got any guarantee you can feed em. "You must a-had a souse last night," Tom grinned. Bert shook his head. "Aw, what's the use of gettin' grouched?" Billy cheered. "It's a pretty good country."
Now why under the sun haven't you the scurvy like all the rest?" "Because I've exercised," came the quick reply. "There wasn't any need for any of them to get it if they'd only got out and done something. What did they do? Growled and kicked and grouched at the cold, the long nights, the hardships, the aches and pains and everything else.
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