ir-r-r-r-rving

Updated: June 13, 2025

Now, it was Carl's to go on, to seek the flowering. Unconscious that he was the heir-apparent of the age, but decidedly conscious that the woodshed was dark, Carl finished the pile. From the step of the woodshed he regarded the world with plaintive boredom. "Ir-r-r-r-rving!" he called. No answer from Irving, the next-door boy. The village was rustlingly quiet.

Sinclair Lewis - The Trail of the Hawk: A Comedy of the Seriousness of Life