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Updated: May 21, 2025
"I was not aware of your presence, Mr. Joltram," he said stiffly. "Noa, noa, Pazon, m'appen not, but tha's aweer on it now. Nowt o' me's zo zmall as can thraw to heaven through tha straight and narrer way. I'd 'ave to squeeze for 't!" He laughed, a big, slow laugh, husky with good living and good humour. Arbroath shrugged his shoulders. "I prefer not to speak to you at all, Mr. Joltram," he said.
There wasn't a pazon for fifty miles, anywhere, and it was night-time, too, and the woman was stretched by the camp-fire and sinking. 'What's to be done? says the men. I'll do it, says I, and I did. One of the fellows got a breakfast can of water out of the river, and I dipped my hand in it. 'What's the name, says I; but the poor soul was too far gone for spaking.
It was Cæsar's favourite text, and his fire was kindled at the parson's praise. "Man alive," he cried, his hot breath tickling the parson's neck, "I've praiched on that text, pazon, till it's wet me through to the waistcoat." They were near to "The Manx Fairy" by this time. "And talking of praise," said Cæsar, "I hear them there at their practices.
Ten millions... ten millions of his own. But if John Lavington was ruined?... Pazon stood up with a cry. That was it, then that was what the warning meant! And if he had not fled from it, dashed wildly away from it into the night, he might have broken the spell of iniquity, the powers of darkness might not have prevailed!
But Joltram remained where he was, standing erect, and surveying the scene like a heavily caparisoned charger scenting battle. "Tha's heerd Mizter Dubble's tale afore now, Pazon, hazn't tha?" he inquired. "M'appen tha knaw'd the little chap as Christ's man zent to prizon thysen?" Arbroath lifted his head haughtily.
Hence he was nicknamed Old Vanity of Vanities. The gig had swept past Sulby Chapel when Cæsar began to ask for the parson's opinion of certain texts. "And may I presume, Pazon Quiggin, what d'ye think of the text 'Praise the Lord. O my soul, and all that is within me praise His Holy Name?" "A very good text after meat, Mr. Cregeen," said the parson, blinking his little eyes in the dark.
Arbroath flushed a dark red, and his lips tightened over his teeth vindictively. "There's a zummat for tha thinkin' on, Pazon Arbroath!" said "Feathery" Joltram, suddenly rising from his chair and showing himself in all his great height and burly build. "Zummat for a zermon on owd Nick, when tha're wantin' to scare the zhoolboys o' Zundays!" Mr. Arbroath's countenance changed from red to pale.
"When people are bound to disagree, as we have disagreed for years, it is best to avoid conversation." "Zed like the Church all over, Pazon!" chuckled the imperturbable Joltram. "Zeems as if I 'erd the 'Glory be'! But if tha don't want any talk, why does tha coom in 'ere wheer we'se all a-drinkin' steady and talkin' 'arty, an' no quarrellin' nor backbitin' of our neighbours?
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