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Updated: June 6, 2025
"Ther's sure bats roostin' in your belfry, Ike." The boy jumped round on the instant. His good-nature could stand the jibes of his comrades generally, but Beasley's sneers neither he nor any one else could endure. "Who's that yappin'?" the youngster cried, glowering into the speaker's face. "That the feller Buck called an outlaw passon?" he demanded. His right hand slipped to the butt of his gun.
"Passon ain't hisself, seems all gone to pieces like," he mused "He don't do nothin' in the garden, he ain't a bit partikler or fidgetty an all he cares about is the bits o' glass which comes on approval from all parts o' the world for the rose window. I sez to him t'other day 'Ain't ye got enough old glass yet, Passon? and he sez all absent-minded like, 'No, Bainton not yet!
He leant toward her, his dark eyes shining with his great love. Reaching out he drew her toward him, his strong, protecting arm encircling her slim waist. "Say, little gal," he went on urgingly, "we're goin' right on now to Leeson Butte. Ther's a passon ther' who can fix us right.
She's jest like a child comin' out of a play in the woods, an' 'er 'air's all blown, an' 'er nails is all dirty. That's natur! Trim 'er up an' curl 'er 'air an' she's worth looking at. Natur! Lor', Passon, if ye likes wild natur ye ain't got no call to keep a gard'ner. But if ye pays me an' keeps me, ye must 'spect me to do my duty.
"An' so you alias have, Polly, since you was a grawed gal; an' God knaws it. But do'e think as you could in a manner o' speakin' hide names from passon? Ban't no call to tell what's fallen out to other folks. Joan eh, Polly? Might 'e speak in a parable like same as Scripture wi'out namin' no names. For Joan's sake, Mary eh?" She was silent a full minute, then answered slowly.
Spruce; "Don't ye think it! For there's nothin' like a man, passon or no passon, for makin' rumples of every bit of clothes he touches, even his own coats and weskits, and I wouldn't let ye lay hands on any o' these things to save my life. Why, they'd go to pieces at the mere sight of yer fingers, they're so flimsy! What I thought ye might do, was to be a witness to us while we sorted them all.
"Very sorry, sir!" said Bainton complacently; "But if one of the names of a man 'appens to be Putwood an' the man 'imself is as fat as a pig scored for roastin' 'ole, what more natrul than the pet name of 'Putty' for 'im? No 'arm meant, I'm sure, Passon! Putty's as good as Pippitt any day!" Walden suppressed his laughter with an effort.
An' as for Passon, she don't come nigh 'im no more, an' he don't go nigh 'er. Seems to me 'tis all a muddle an' a racket since the motor-cars went bouncin' about an' smellin' like p'ison 'tain't wot it used to be. Howsomever, let's 'ope to the Lord it'll soon be over.
"I do, Miss;" and Bainton touched his forelock respectfully; "An' while we're joggin' easy downhill with Josey, I'll get it well rubbed into Spruce. And, by yer leave, if you hain't no objection, I'll tell Passon Walden that sich is your orders, and m'appen he'll find a way of impressin' Leach straighter than we can."
'Well, sir, it was like this, you see. My wife, she's north-country, she is, comes from Yorkshire; sometimes she'd used to say to me, "Passon 'ee ain't much good, and passon 'ee ain't much harm. 'Ee's no more good nor more 'arm, so fer as I can see, nor a chip in a basin o' parritch."
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