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Updated: June 4, 2025
There wuz one statute by Canova of Clement XIII that is lovely, the marble figure of the pope and on each side kneelin' figures of Religion and Death. Down below as if guardin' the tomb stands two noble lions. And Pope Innocent, I d'no whether his name agreed with his nater or not, but he sets there holdin' the lance that pierced the side of our Lord, so they say.
"Why did ye dally with him, Ken?" she demanded, fiercely; "don't ye know thet whilst ye lets him live yere jest handlin' an' playin' with a rattlesnake?" "He hain't got long ter live," came the coldly confident response, "but afore he dies, he wants ter crave yore pardon, Dorothy, an' he wants ter do hit kneelin' down." Bas Rowlett shot a sidelong glance at the clock.
So ye've seen yer auld dad at last, and the last; the proper place, say ye, for yen father he! he! Eh, lad, but I'm blithe to see ye. D'ye mind when we was last thegither? Ye was kneelin' on ma chest: 'Your time's come, dad, says you, and wangs me o'er the face he! he! I mind it as if 'twas yesterday. Weel, weel, we'll say nae mair about it. Boys will be boys. Sons will be sons.
'Onless, he says, 'ye'd feel like buyin' out th' whole business, he says. 'I'm a pathrite, he says; 'but I'm no bigot, he says. "An' there it stands, Hinnissy, with th' indulgent parent kneelin' on th' stomach iv his adopted child, while a dillygation fr'm Boston bastes him with an umbrella. There it stands, an' how will it come out I dinnaw. I'm not much iv an expansionist mesilf.
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