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Updated: June 10, 2025
Yet when still another six weeks had passed and Pemrose, with all the green world of spring in her heart, stood, breathless, upon that Lenox pinnacle a pine-clad mountainette some thirteen hundred feet above sea-level lo and behold! there was a nickum sitting coolly in the Devil's Chair. A brazen feat it was!
And ever afterwards Pem liked that churlish nickum because he ignored her then; because he had no more consciousness of her presence, or of Una's, or of the June woman's, than if they had been rocks blank rocks by the trail, as he flung himself on his knees beside his father. "Dad! Dad!" he cried, his face as gray-blue with hurry as his baseball flannels. "Oh-h!
Now, it was the nickum who answered; the same scintillating tones they were how bully they sounded then which had quoted Shakespeare on "Something rotten in the State of Denmark", amid other depressing waters, half hidden, half liberated by their ice-cloak. "I can look out for my own 'piping times' thank you! And I'm not going to buy any pig in a poke take any leap in the dark."
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